Leaning On You
by OnYourLeft107
Summary: Set during Civil War, Bucky tries to cope with the aftereffects of SPUTNIK. Sam helps. Sharon takes care of Steve while he recovers from his injuries and helps him relocate the scattered team. Natasha questions her affiliations with the Accords. Tony struggles to overcome his guilt. No slash/smut. Sequel to "Shaken" but can be read as a stand alone.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello all you wonderful people! This story is being written as a sequel to one of my previous fanfictions, Shaken, but it can be read as a stand alone. More chapters are on the way. Reviews are always appreciated. ;) Enjoy!**

* * *

"You didn't kill him."

"Yeah, but I could've."

Bucky shakily raised a bottle to his lips as he remembered the conversation he had carried on with Sam before he left. _Before I knew if Steve was gonna live._ He felt the burn of the alcohol in his throat. He wasn't going to get drunk. He couldn't afford to be found inadequately prepared for an attempt on his life, whether it be to take or save it.

He needed to be alone. Clearly no one was safe around him if ten words could turn him into a bloodthirsty monster. He couldn't bear to hurt anyone else. Not now.

If Steve had almost died because of him and on his watch in the old days, he'd drink until he passed out. But he was younger then, didn't understand that loss was a part of life. Steve always knew. He had lost more than Bucky understood before they had even met. Now, Bucky understood too well. Steve had never really had a chance to be a kid with his dad dead and the guys at school picking on him. He grew up too fast, learned that the world didn't hand anything to you. Even now, more was expected of him than what he could fulfill. Bucky couldn't count the times he had wished it wasn't that way. But he couldn't change it.

It was comforting to hold a beer bottle again, to drink what he wanted when he wanted instead of pouncing on whatever HYDRA threw in front of him. 'Course, he still didn't have much of a choice when stepping outside his door could mean his death, but at least he could decide when to open it. It was a curse that he couldn't decide to undo what he'd done to Steve. And everyone before him, really.

The soldier was propped up against the splintering wood boards of a shed wall, watching a bug caught in a spiderweb on the opposite side. It was struggling to break free but it was becoming more and more tangled with every move.

"It's a useless battle," Bucky muttered, smiling with clouded eyes as he took a long gulp. "No matter what you do you'll never win." The man watched as the spider finally emerged from a hidden corner of its web and began to creep down the spindly trap, sucking the life out of its victim when it reached the tangled insect. Mercilessly mummifying its prey to keep itself alive.

It was a cold world. Colder now that he was consciously in it. "The Winter Soldier" was an appropriate title. Maybe he never would be able to rid himself of that dark part of his soul. At one point he had been confident that he could bring himself back. Bucky bit his lip, stared at the dust on his boots. That hope was gone. If even Steve couldn't get across to him, who could? It wasn't safe to try. Too many experiments concerning both of them had already failed.

To be honest, he was tired. Tired of the effort it took to make it through every godforsaken day, every sleepless night, every flashback that sprung on him when his mind was peaceful and he was alone. Tired of the guilt he carried, the longing for everything to be okay. Sometimes it felt as if it was too much to simply exist on this earth. The weight was so unbearably heavy that he stumbled under it, but he rarely found someone to console him for his bruises. Those he dealt with on his own, kept to himself, buried under his pile of other, more important worries. Worries such as where he was supposed to go from here. Where he could go.

He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. Everything was exhausting. The U.N. was conducting a manhunt for him; Steve, no doubt, would be after him as soon as he could walk. Bucky seemed to be collecting both enemies and friends every time he showed his face, neither of which he was sure he wanted.

 _What the hell am I supposed to say if Steve shows up at my door?_ He thought to himself, the very prospect of the situation sending a surge of excited dread through his chest. _What can I tell him? "I'm sorry" doesn't really cut it when you practically murdered someone in cold blood. Someone who was trying to save your life. Damn._

He couldn't protect him. He knew it. He never had quite been able to and he never would be fully capable of defending his best friend. Especially when Steve got stupid ideas stuck in his head and refused to shake them out. It bothered him. But he knew Steve was bothered by it too, that he couldn't protect Bucky.

 _Why'd you have to come after me when you knew you wouldn't get out unharmed? And now I don't know if I can ever look you in the eye again._

Bucky's eyes flickered open and he watched the light from under the door fade from yellow to gray as the sun set. The whole thing was a mess. He was lucky he had remembered this place at least. An old, abandoned farm in the middle of a nearly deserted town. It was in the middle of nowhere; people out there didn't get reception for T.V. or internet, so although radio warnings had been sent out, it was difficult for people to match his face to the oral description. Everyone in the area had scruff or a beard and wore messy clothes.

He had a safe space there for a while, with a roof over his head, an old .22 rifle he had picked up from a pawn shop, and a convenience store down the dirt road, hence the beer.

At least he would be left alone.

* * *

"Wilson, how the hell did you find me? I'm in the middle of rural Wyoming and you can't leave me alone?"

"Man, no one trusts you to be eatin' enough and makin' decent decisions without supervision when you decide to drop off the face of the earth. C'mon, it doesn't even look like you brushed your hair."

Bucky glared. "I took care of myself for almost a hundred years before you showed up, birdbrain."

"Oh yeah, 'cause struttin' your stuff with a tinfoil arm and managing not to die is adequately taking care of yourself."

The meeting hadn't started this way, but the two usually found a reason to work themselves into an argument. Originally, Bucky's rifle was aimed between Sam's eyes and Sam was informed that he was "not safe." The Falcon knew that his friend wouldn't shoot him, though, 'cause that's what they were. Friends. At least, they were on the same side. He could see it in the man's eyes that he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger this time. So, Sam sat without being invited in and started talking to him.

It had been so long since someone had trusted him that Bucky was stunned into silence for a good twenty minutes. Now, that had worn off. And he was angry.

"What if I forget myself again? What if I try to hurt you, too? What are you going to do then?" He shook his head. "Sam, you gotta leave. This...this thing they made me into...it's not reliable. Besides, Steve needs you. Is…." It was difficult to think about, let alone say. "Is he even still alive?"

"He was when I left. He was doing well; I'm assuming he still is. He has Sharon and the team. You don't have anybody right now. And I don't know what you're thinkin', but it certainly seems like you need a friend."

"I don't deserve one. Not after what I did to Steve." Bucky's voice faltered. "Since when did you care about some hobo of a man you've barely met? I'm not worth all this."

"Look, maybe we don't seem like similar people to you, but we've got more in common than you think. We've both been through wars, we've both seen a lot of stuff we wish we hadn't. And we've done a lot of things we aren't proud of." He paused, waited for Bucky to regain eye contact. "You come home, wake up, and it feels like a world you've never seen before. There's challenges you can't face, things you don't know if you can ever forgive yourself for. Well, you can. But not alone."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Bucky lowered his gun and stared at the floor. Sam could see it wasn't easy for him to accept that someone was willing to help. But it always started that way. He knew it 'cause he'd been through it.

Bucky turned to the box of beer and without saying anything, held one out to him.

"So, I take it I can stay?" Sam asked, accepting the peace offering.

Bucky nodded. "I guess. It's too much work to get rid of you anyways," he sighed.

"Cheers."


	2. Chapter 2

Sharon rolled over in her bed, pulling the blankets closer around her. _It can't be morning yet._ She didn't know why she had woken up. Her stomach had an aching feeling and she couldn't place why. Then her hearing focused in on the faint sound in the background.

Steve.

Sharon swore. _It's 2:30am. He just fell asleep. Can't he have one damn moment where he's okay? Where he's happy? Where he doesn't feel like an outcast, like a failure? Where he isn't blaming himself or being blamed? I swear I'll shoot Zemo._

She pushed the blankets off of her and pulled a sweatshirt over her tank top, leaving her shorts as they were. With any luck it wouldn't be too cold in his room. She walked down the silent halls in bare feet, the cold of the cement seeping throughout her entire frame. _Should've grabbed socks._ She waited outside the door when she reached Steve's room.

Sharon could hear him from there. Whimpering. Fast breaths.

"No, Bucky….Bucky stop...It's Steve. It's Steve. You know me….We grew up together."

Pause.

"Zemo….Zemo you can't...do this to him….It's not fair. It's not fair!"

She wanted to wake him. But she wanted to listen longer. She wanted to know what Steve wasn't telling her about what happened. She creaked the door open.

He was soaked in sweat, eyes shut, hands clenching the covers, knees withdrawn in a fetal position, chest heaving.

"No, please!" He drew his hand up to his head, his body tensed. The soldier let out a weak cry and began to tremble.

She walked silently to his bed. He needed to wake up.

A tear rolled down his cheek. "Sharon…." She paused. "Sharon, no! You can't touch her!" He began trembling harder.

"Steve." She whispered it, but her heart was boiling with anger. Not at him, or Bucky, or even Zemo, although she certainly wouldn't pass up an opportunity to kick him in the face. Right now, though, she was mad at the world.

She was mad at the fact that Steve couldn't catch a break. She was mad at the thought of him getting hurt, of someone hurting him. She was mad at the memories he was haunted by, at his own denial of all the good he had done. She was mad at his friends who had pushed him away, causing him inexplicable pain because he couldn't sign the Accords and they knew it. She was mad at his mind, that it couldn't give him a moment's rest, even when he slept. Most of all, she was mad at herself, that she couldn't stop it. He had mumbled in his sleep that it wasn't fair. And he was right. Nothing was these days.

Sharon laid her hand gently on his shoulder, hoping not to startle him. "Steve."

His eyes opened and he froze under her touch.

"Steve, it's me, Sharon. You were asleep."

His heartbeat was so loud she could hear it.

"Steve, I'm going to sit next to you on the bed, okay?" She knew he wasn't fully there; any big movements could set him off or shut him down and she wanted to avoid both. The agent lowered herself down next to him and slowly brought her hand through his tousled hair, stroking it carefully, repetitively.

She began to sing.

Not loudly; barely above a whisper. Sharon sang every slow, sweet song she could think of. Children's rhymes, songs from the radio, church hymns, anything. Gradually, she could see him coming back. The vacant terror left his eyes, replaced by a quiet sadness. The expression of a little boy.

"Sharon?"

"Yes, Steve?"

"Did it all happen?"

"Did what all happen?"

Steve blinked, as if still trying to convince himself he wasn't dreaming. "There was glass. And chains." He closed his eyes and she grabbed his hands, afraid she was losing him again. But she wasn't. He opened his eyes and looked at her, whispering softly, "There was a knife." Sharon could feel her own eyes burning as he saw from her expression that he was right. "It happened, didn't it." He sounded more disappointed than horrified. And frankly, that scared her more.

"I wasn't there. But that's what I found when we rescued you."

Steve looked worn thin. "It's my fault that he's gone."

"You couldn't have helped it. You were trying to save him."

"We can't let them kill him. Or Sam. Or anyone." He sighed. "I'm...tired. Tired of death. Tired of fighting it, tired of cheating it out of its hold on me, tired of protecting people from it. You're the only one I haven't had to save." He lowered his head, his voice barely audible. "Don't let me lose you too."

She pulled him into her embrace and held him tight, feeling his strong arms around her and his warm breath, now steadied instead of staggered.

He kissed her neck and pulled her closer. "I never want to lose you."

She kissed him back. "You never will."


	3. Chapter 3

_"Millions were horrified at the live broadcasting of Steven Roger's execution two weeks ago. No word has come regarding the criminals behind it, but the president has dubbed it a 'terrorist broadcasting' and 'a threat to our nation.' We interviewed one mother from New York who was angered over the incident. Here's Melissa._

 _"'It was a regular Saturday morning and I had turned on cartoons for my kids to watch while I made breakfast. Then this terrible display comes on and my children come crying to me that they don't understand why their show wouldn't play, and who was the man who was dying, mommy? I didn't know what to do. They haven't stopped asking me every day since it happened if he's okay. If the Avengers can't control their internal affairs, they are not protecting the public. They are putting everyone, including our children, at risk. And that Steve Rogers, he couldn't find it in him to sign the Accords that would've prevented all of this. Now, because of him and his friend, my kids are scarred and I'm scared for their safety.'_

 _"A compelling story that does raise the question of whether the public is safe around these so-called 'superhumans' or not. The Sokovian government claims no association with the incident and has agreed to aid the U.S. in its efforts to find those responsible. The U.N. has issued an international warning regarding former Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, known as the Winter Soldier, who killed Captain America. Barnes was the only identifiable suspect involved; orders are to shoot on site._

 _"Authorities are still hunting for anyone else affiliated. If you locate or have any tips on the criminals or their location, notify authorities immediately. Do not engage for your own safety. Rewards will be given to any individuals who help neutralize this threat-"_

Sharon unplugged the T.V.. "Steve, you don't need to be watching that. It'll only make you worse."

"I need to know what we're up against." His voice was quiet, but cold.

"Maybe. But not right away."

"Not right away? Someone who has been a brother to me my entire life could be killed at any moment and you're asking me not to pursue it?"

She sighed. "Steve, you're being unreasonable-"

"Unreasonable." He laughed. "Yeah, 'cause looking out for my best friend is unreasonable."

Sharon gave him an irritated glare. "Steve, you know-"

"No, I don't know. I can't know anything because everyone wants to protect me." He turned away from her so she wouldn't see the frustrated anger in his eyes. "Maybe I don't want to be protected. Maybe there's someone out there, a good man, who's the one who needs protection. Maybe if people would tell me-"

"Steve!" The crack in her voice told him he was pushing her past her limits. "You're incapable of leaving your bed! You can't help him! And watching the media talk about him like that isn't going to help you!" She regretted it as soon as she had said it. "Steve. Steve, you know that's not what I wanted to say-"

He didn't turn towards her. "No. You're right. I'm useless as long as I can't leave this room."

"You're not useless. That's not what I meant to say." Sharon sank into a chair and put her face in her hands. "Steve, you need to heal."

"So does he."

"I know. But be honest. Could you even face him if he walked into this room right now? Could he? Don't pretend what happened hasn't changed you."

Steve turned his head in her direction but kept his eyes down. "It wasn't his fault."

"I'm not saying it was." Sharon walked to the bed, sat down next to him and put her hand on his. "What I'm saying is you both need time. I wake up to your screams every night. I see the panic in your eyes when someone mentions Zemo or the base or the things they used on you. You flinch every time someone reaches into their pocket. If you're still this bad, who knows what condition Bucky is in." His eyes met hers. "You can't hide everything, Steve. And I don't want you to. All I want is for both of you to be happy. And don't forget about us. It's hard to hear, but right now is not the time to help him when you can't even help yourself."

He knew she was right. He hated to admit it, though. The only thing he could find to say was: "What do you suggest I do? I can't exactly start a therapy session in the middle of everything." Steve shook his head. "To be honest, being stuck here is boring me out of my skull. I need something to think about besides everything that's happened lately. Can't even find a decent sketchbook around here."

She squeezed his hand. "You need to slow down and take a breath. I can see your thoughts swimming in circles and you beating yourself up about it. It's not helping. Everything will turn out okay if you let it."

He managed to smile a little. "One question."

"Shoot."

"Do you have any decent books?"

Sharon smiled back and kissed his head as she stood up. "I'll see what I can find."

* * *

Clint walked in, mugs in hand, eyes blinking to stay open. "Rough day, huh?" he asked, pulling up a chair and setting the extra coffee cup on Steve's bedside table. "Figured you'd need a refill even if you get to lounge in bed all day. For Pete's sake, you're reading that?" He gestured to the book in Steve's hands: War and Peace.

The soldier shrugged. "Hey, it's better than nothing." He set the book down and gladly accepted the drink, taking a long breath in, savoring the warm, earthy smell of coffee. One of his favorite smells. Some things hadn't changed since he was a kid.

Steve used to wake up to the smell before school when his mom was getting ready for work, then found himself drinking the beverage in the barracks whenever he could get his hands on some. Didn't have the same effect on him as it used to, now that he had the serum and all, but it was still delicious.

This coffee was rich and hot, not lukewarm and watered down as the brew so often had been by the time he could get a cup. Howard was notorious for stealing the majority of the pot whenever it was brewed, although Steve usually managed to salvage a little if he could get there before Peggy. It was a race some mornings to see who would get there first, but he gave up his mug without fighting if she had beat him to it.

"What's new?" asked Steve, tapping a rhythm on his mug as he waited for it to cool.

"What can be? I'm not allowed out of the compound and none of my kids are around to cause trouble, so there's not much to tell." Clint blew the steam off of his drink and took a sip. "We haven't gotten any leads on Barnes."

Steve frowned. "What do you mean you're 'not allowed out of the compound'? Under whose orders?"

"Sharon's. I'm assuming she's the one in charge here. But also my own. It's common sense. With all the crazy people out to get us, it's best to lay low for a bit. Got out of a lot of sticky situations when I was on missions with Nat by letting the air blow over for a while." He paused for another sip. "Oh yeah, and let me remind you I'm just a dad with some ridiculously buff friends who's trying to play Robin Hood. I mean, I'm buff too. But I didn't get any of that buff-man juice like you super dudes."

Steve smiled. "Having the serum isn't all fun and games when people start expecting you to turn into Superman every other minute."

"Probably. Seems like all the supervillains are out to get you, too. I gotta search up my own trouble."

"You have your own wars, though, don't you? Different, sure, but no less hard. At least, that's what I've heard. Always wanted to start a family, y'know? At this point, I don't know if I ever can. I don't know if I could keep them safe." Steve looked at his friend in admiration. "People tell me it isn't easy raising kids, and I know my mom didn't have anything handed to her. Especially when it came to me." The soldier wrapped his fingers closer around the steaming mug. "I must've driven her crazy. I ate up her low income in medical bills quicker than you could say Jack Robinson."

Clint grinned. "But still, she loved you. That's what it's all about. That's the real, everyday battle. You love your kids more than life itself - more than they'll ever know. You gotta protect them as much as you can. But sometimes you have to do things for their own good that they don't understand and they hate you for it. But they'll find out later you didn't really have a choice. Not if you wanted them to be safe." He glanced around the room. Everything was gray. So unlike his farm, with the colorful dishtowels and art projects hanging on the walls. "My kids were all mad when I left, even more mad when I told them I couldn't call. My wife too. She was all for the retirement idea." Clint shook his head. "I tried to explain to them but they didn't care. And that's when I realized they don't care about Hawkeye or Agent Barton. All they really care about is Daddy. And it really made me rethink why I'm pulling this whole gig."

Steve felt a tinge of guilt in his chest. "I'm sorry for dragging you back into the field."

Clint took a long gulp from his mug. "Don't be. I knew I wouldn't be able to stay away for long. Retirement just isn't as fun as shooting the heads off bad guys. It's really my kids you should be apologizing to. But I doubt you could anytime soon, 'cause the list of reasons why I need to say 'sorry' is already a mile long."

Steve smirked. "I know how that feels."

There was a tap on the frame of his open door. It was Sharon, well-dressed, looking about as tired as they were but significantly more beautiful. _Really beautiful_ , Steve thought. He felt bad for yelling at her earlier. After this whole thing was over, he was gonna take her out on a real date. Flowers, dinner, anything she wanted. She deserved way more than he had been giving her.

He could see the circles under her eyes and he knew at least part of it was his fault. Stupid insomnia. After they got out of this hellhole he promised himself he would make it up to her. She had given up her entire life - her home, her work, her friends - to follow him. All he'd given her was pain and stress. He'd make it right.

"I hate to break up the conversation, but a report just came in that you'll want to see."

Clint stood.

"What is it?" Steve asked, noticing the concern in her tone.

"I don't know." She walked to his bed. "Don't get your hopes up, because I don't know if it's real yet or not. But we may have just found Bucky."


	4. Chapter 4

"I can't believe he's dead. He can't be." Those were the most complete sentences Tony had said in the last two weeks. He had shut down and become a recluse after he heard the news. It was a lot to process.

Steve had carried most of the authoritative weight in the Avengers, although Iron Man would never admit it. It was humiliation enough that Mr. Genius-Billionaire-Playboy-Philanthropist had lost arguments to a guy who not too long ago was awed by colored television. Tony Stark was not about to agree that Cap had put in the last say in the majority of the team's decisions, but it was true.

More than that, though, Steve was a friend. There weren't too many of them around in this day and age, not real ones. Despite their differences the two had found a way to bond, mostly over shared regrets. Yeah, they picked at each other every chance they got, but Steve had talked Tony through some of his worst times and he wasn't about to forget it.

He wouldn't admit it to the press, but he was scared out of his mind now that his friend was gone. Anyone could see it ate away at him that Steve had died before they were reconciled. Tony didn't know what to do.

Natasha heard but didn't answer. She had felt more than uneasy when she helped Steve uncover his long lost pal. She watched his rage against HYDRA grow to a point where she was worried it would consume him. She saw his determination when at every turn there waited a fallback in the search for his friend. She watched his brotherhood with Sam increase as Steve finally allowed himself to trust. For once, there was someone who hadn't broken his promises. Steve was finally starting to settle in. Adjust. Actually listened to her for the first time in his life and asked out the nurse from down the hall. He had found his family, started to actually believe that there was still good in the world. He had a goal, something to live for other than responsibility, although he had his fair share of that as well. Steve had finally realized there was hope. Only to have Zemo destroy his years of work in a few days.

She saw what he looked like when he died and Natasha had to guess he was imprisoned for at least four days before. What they had done to him she didn't know, but he wasn't the same Steve she had last saw. He was far more damaged. And now he was gone. To think that he had died at the hands of his best friend, everyone else having abandoned him….It was better not to think.

Tony sank into a chair across from her, eyes down. He had to clear his throat more than once before he could get the words out. "Is he really gone?"

"You saw the reports, the video." Natasha winced as she momentarily remembered the morning she had woken up into that nightmare. "I don't know how he could've lived."

The two sat in silence, surrounded by the massive emptiness of Avenger's tower. F.R.I.D.A.Y. was strangely quiet. Tony hadn't talked to her in days.

It felt empty without Steve. The man had frequented the tower, even lived there for awhile. It's not like he had a place to go home to - Captain America wasn't always welcome in his own country. He left his apartment after Fury "died" there. That, and one wall was completely ruined. He had also tousled up a number of other rooms and offices, and the landlords weren't exactly dying to have him back. Besides, Tony wandering around a giant mansion alone never turned out well.

Bruce and Thor had fallen off the grid. Rhodey had been called in for a meeting with the president since Tony couldn't handle it right now. Vision was an off and on visitor, never staying for too long in one place and if he did, he wasn't always detectable. The rest of them were unaccounted for.

It had finally happened. Their family had split. More than that, a member was dead, the rest missing. And this time, no one knew what to do, because the person who usually took action and had the ideas was no longer having them.

It hurt Natasha especially that he died the way he did. She knew how much Bucky meant to Steve, how much they both meant to her. She knew that neither of them could've stopped it. They had history. The three of them had lived through things some of the others could barely imagine. She knew if Bucky was still alive he wouldn't be for long. If the authorities found him he wouldn't have much of a chance. If he found himself, he wasn't likely to give himself much of a chance either. She couldn't help but wonder if it all could've been prevented if the Accords had never existed. It was supposed to be a document that brought peace, not a heartbreaking mess. If the team hadn't split, maybe Steve would still be alive. She didn't know what had gone down before the broadcasting, but it wasn't pretty. He could've at least called for backup...if he wasn't afraid his own friends were as dangerous as his enemies. Natasha would've done almost anything to have him back.

Tony got up and walked to the window. She could tell he was crying. "Isn't there something we can do?" he asked hoarsely, gazing at the sunshine outside that seemed to ignore all the pain he felt.

"Tony, it's too late."

He slammed his fist into the window and rested his head against it, letting the sobs shiver through his entire body.

Natasha silently walked to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault he's dead."

"Yes, it is." Tony ripped away from her and kicked the coffee table they had been sitting at over. The glasses shattered as they hit the floor, coasters skidding across the room.

"No, it's not. You couldn't have done anything. You didn't know."

He couldn't move his eyes off the cracked tile in the floor pattern. He was going to have to replace that, now that he broke it, along with the glasses and probably the table. He swallowed and looked up at her with the rawest expression she had ever seen him show. "I could've done a hell of a lot more than I did."

"We. We could've. Done something to keep him from leaving. Anything." She brushed back a strand of crimson hair and ignored the extra huskiness in her voice. "He was the first person I ever knew would die for me if things went south, besides Clint. First person I trusted to have my back and not knife it."

"He knew my dad. And he was the only man I've ever met to refuse credit even when he deserves it. He saved my life and then acted as if it didn't happen five minutes later. But he wouldn't shut up about the suit improvements I gave him for weeks afterwards, even if all his compliments were quiet. You know, he told me once…." Tony choked a little at the words that held so much weight for him. "He told me one time my dad would be proud if he could see who I'd become. And he meant it. I could see it in his eyes." He blinked, embarrassed that he was crying again. "He may've deserved a punch in the teeth but he didn't deserve whatever shit they put him through before the broadcasting. That wasn't a simple execution." Tony wiped his eyes roughly and glared. "If I ever find who was behind it they're going through their own personal hell."

"Oh, believe me, I'll help."

"Barnes should suffer too."

"Don't you think he already has?"

"Not enough. I still want to bring him in."

Nat gave him a pointed look. "Bring him in or take him out? Would you shoot him if you had the chance?"

"After seeing what he did to Rogers? I wouldn't hesitate. Would you?"

"I don't know." Memories of their work together in Russia, memories of what they made him do, what she did, the knowledge that it was all forced, they couldn't help it…. "Steve obviously thought he could still be brought back. Maybe he was just...wrong."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Maybe? I'd say definitely."

"If I took him out it wouldn't be for revenge. Those marks are hardest to wipe out of your leger. It'd be because there was no other option." Natasha slung her jacket over her shoulder and picked up the heels she had kicked off a few hours before. "I'm going. If you need me, I'll be here. Just call."

He hesitated, then impulsively hugged her. Natasha stiffened at first but relaxed and hugged him back.

"Thanks, Nat, for everything."

"We've got to stick together. What's left of us. And you're welcome." She stepped back and began walking away. Natasha paused in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. "Tony? Don't take it out on yourself. We'll find them."


	5. Chapter 5

"Checkmate."

"Oh, _come on._ " Things were getting serious when Sam used the full two words. "Did you train for this too?"

"We had to do something in between the fighting and tests. They didn't give us too many options. Chess was one of the less violent ones."

"I didn't know HYDRA gave their master assassins down time," Sam said, fiddling with one of his few pieces left. This was embarrassing. He was losing to a grandfather. For the fifth time.

"Only in the earlier days before I started remembering. Only when I was training...kids. The Red Room. It was all monitored closely and kept to short periods of time. Everything we did was an extension of our training anyways. Most of the time we didn't get a choice, we just hoped it involved minimal cleanup." Bucky paused, apparently remembering some activities that he wouldn't have chosen had he been given the option. Then he shook his head and brought himself back. "Chess was for strategy." The soldier smirked as Sam moved his king only to have his queen snatched moments later. "HYDRA never gave us too much time to ourselves. They didn't want us thinking as individuals, because that meant we might have personal thoughts and that made us hard to control. Our matches were watched to see who the smarter minds were. Who could think ahead. Who won consistently. When someone won more than once, they watched them closer. Because that meant they were smart and smart people are harder to manipulate. Champions were dangerous because they had thoughts outside what HYDRA burned into their brains." An iciness crept over Bucky's eyes. "I wasn't the only one who was brainwashed. But the real smart ones caught on. And it became a game of losing, not winning. Because whoever lost was left alone. And that's all any of us ever wanted."

"Well it's certainly not a game of losing anymore, unless you're me."

Bucky grinned.

Sam looked at his friend intently. He had noticed a slight hesitation, a little tension as Bucky recalled the memory. To anyone else, it wouldn't seem as though a simple story would be a big deal. But slowly Sam was realizing he was prompting the veteran less and less. These stories were resurfacing without being pressured or forced and that meant Bucky was learning to trust, even if it was only with the little things. Things that couldn't be held against him. They hadn't gotten to any of the darker memories yet - the torture, the pain, the death. Those were embedded deep; they would take a little more digging. But even if they were only taking little steps, it was a victory in itself that they were walking. Sam had worked with enough vets before that he understood it took time. Besides that, he had been there, too. He was proud they had already made it this far.

Bucky watched Sam's hand move, hover over his bishop, then fall back as he reconsidered. They sat without talking for a while, but it was an easy silence. A comfortable one. Bucky watched the slices of sunshine filtering from slits in the shed wall that patterned the scratched-up chess board Sam had picked up from the pawn shop. The patterns shifted and blinked as the long grass outside caught the breeze and brushed past the cracks of light.

Bucky's sigh was lighter than he felt. "Do you think that he'll forgive me?"

Sam looked up, surprised at the question but more so at the calmness in the man's voice. "He already has."

Bucky's eyes flickered at the response but he didn't allow them to brighten. "How do you know?"

"How could you doubt it? If you two are really as close as you both say, if you're family, that shouldn't be a question. It doesn't matter what you do, he'll forgive you."

"Sometimes family is the hardest to forgive."

"I never said it was easy. I just said that he did. Besides, it's not Bucky he needs to forgive, it's that...other guy."

"We might be the same now." The sniper frowned. "It's hard to distinguish where he ends and I begin sometimes."

"Well I know you're not that other guy right now. And Steve knows that, too. He's forgiven you, now you gotta learn to forgive yourself. That's what life's all about - fallin' down, gettin' up, makin' things right. It's happened to the best of us; we've all hurt the people we love. What matters is what we do afterwards." Sam studied his pieces for a few more seconds, then moved, putting Bucky into checkmate. "Ha! I win!"

Bucky gave him a smug smile. "Not quite, pal." He moved to put Sam into checkmate. "It's payback."

"For what?"

"Not moving your seat up."

"C'mon, man, you know you wouldn't 've had as good a view if I'd let you stay behind me. Didn't want you to miss out on Steve's big moment."

"Oh, sure, that's what it was." Bucky laughed and shook his head. "I can't believe he finally got a date. It's about damn time."

Sam held a bag out to his friend. "Cheeto?"

Bucky took a handful without being asked twice. "Your move."

"I'm basically dead."

"I can see at least three things you could do right now without jeopardizing your game."

Sam put his hands up. "Alright, I'll look."

The former assassin leaned back against the wall of the shed, surveying the ruins of the last few days' stay. A couple decks of cards strewn across the floor, several empty bags and containers (mostly junkfood - his mom would've yelled at him. Steve too, for that matter) scattered all over the place, a couple books and an old cassette player from the pawn shop sitting in the corner.

"You know what I could really go for right now?" Bucky asked, his mouth watering.

"Hmm?"

"Cinnamon rolls."

"There's probably some microwavable ones at the convenience store down the road," suggested Sam, scratching his head as he made his play.

"Does it look like we own a microwave? Besides, those taste like chalk. My mom used to make the best you'd ever tasted. I don't remember the recipe, but if I ever figure it out I'll make some."

"You'll burn them."

"Wanna bet?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "If there's one thing I do better than you, it's cook."

Bucky snorted. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Steve's the one who can't even make breakfast sausages properly, okay? He tried to cook them without greasing the pan or putting water in it or anything."  
"Well he exploded a carton of coconut milk on me when we were tryin' to make waffles, so I'm not surprised. If he ever brings it up, it was definitely his fault, not mine."

Suddenly, Bucky stiffened. He heard the cock of a gun and felt the cold metal of a pistol against his head.

"Both of you are coming with me."

Sam glared at the owner of the voice. "And why the hell would we do that?"

"If you don't, I'll spill his brains. Or, better yet, I'll leave you both. The people on their way won't be so merciful. And they're almost here."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey y'all, just a quick note: I'll probably be posting a few times this week (as you can see this chapter is sorta short) and I apologize for skipping around timelines. I hope it's not too confusing. Thanks for reading and your support! (Sorry [not sorry] for all the cliffhangers that have happened and are coming!)**

 **~OnYourLeft107**

* * *

[A few days before Chapter 5.]

She wasn't lying when she told Tony she was going home. But she wasn't going home to relax; far from it. She'd rather do her research without any interference from SHIELD or FRIDAY or Tony for that matter.

Natasha found her laptop buried under a pile of laundry on her bed. She'd spent the last couple days at Stark tower making sure Tony ate and avoided any rash decisions. She couldn't lose any more of her family. Not so soon. Not ever, if she could help it. She shoved her clothes onto the floor and opened the screen. _I'll fold those later._

For the past two weeks the Avenger had been trying to figure out if the interceptors of the regular broadcast had left any identifiable traces. So far, she hadn't had much luck in finding a location or tracing the source. Tonight, she was going to stop looking for places and start looking for names.

Natasha began with the basics. She was fairly certain Steve's death had been an idea carried out by HYDRA, so she began filtering through SHIELD's old databases to find agents who had a hacking record or were assigned to similar technology as was used in the broadcasting. That narrowed down some, but not enough. Next, she began eliminating agents with no known association with HYDRA. That filtered out quite a few, but she was still left with a couple hundred. After a moment, she laughed. _Probably should've counted out those who're dead, too._

After hours of searching through profiles, comparing broadcastings, looking through archives, and digging up everything she could find on known terrorists, though, Nat was exhausted. And she still didn't have a lead.

Frustrated, she looked at her phone as it lit up. The message was from Fury.

A former SHIELD agent has been reported dead. We lost contact with him around the time of the broadcasting. There's reason to believe he's connected to the scheme and may be the one who hacked the frequencies.

 _Finally_ , she thought, _some solid information._ She looked at the name. Joseph Saria. Then found his death report.

Her heart skipped a beat after the next thing she saw.

EMPLOYMENT AT TIME OF DEATH: STARK INDUSTRIES

This discovery was accompanied by one last message from Fury.

Don't trust anyone.


	7. Chapter 7

"...We may have just found Bucky."

Steve's eyes lit up. "You found him? How?" He sat up in bed, leaning forward, ignoring the sharp pain throughout his body. "Is he safe? Where is he?"

"Whoa, hold on. One thing at a time." Sharon almost regretted telling him. She hadn't seen him this hopeful since he woke up. "We don't know if this is real or another false lead."

"Another? How many have there been?"

"Too many." Sharon fiddled with the prepaid phone she kept for communication with Sam. "I want to call them but it's too risky. I don't know if Sam's found him yet and these are too basic to have a silent setting, so if he's in a tough situation…."

"You don't want to risk it," Steve finished for her, nodding. "Makes sense. So you're waiting for him to call you."

"We don't want anyone tracing the signal, so there's only one call on it. He's not going to waste it until he has a plan or it's an emergency. Which is rough, because there's a good chance that he's found Bucky by now."

"And if he hasn't?"

Sharon handed him her laptop with the running news story.

BREAKING NEWS: POLICE PURSUING SUSPECTED TERRORIST IN WYOMING

It was accompanied by a picture someone had taken of scenery in Wyoming. When zoomed in, a background pedestrian had the blurry profile of a man who looked like Bucky.

"Unfortunately, if this is him, our source is _6 News._ Which means we won't get there in time."

The glow in Steve's face faded into sickened concern. "But it could just be another false lead...right?"

"Let's hope so. But if it isn't…."

He couldn't meet her eyes. "We might lose him."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey again! I'm trying not to be annoying with these author notes (I like to keep them to a minimum) but I have a couple things to say.**

 **First of all, I'm going on vacation in the next week, so this may or may not be the last chapter I can post for a couple weeks. I'll try to get another one up right before I leave, but I won't have wifi for about 14 days. So, we'll see what happens.**

 **Second of all, WinterWidow is featured in this chapter. If the context is confusing to you (MCU doesn't feature them as a couple - SHAME ON THEM), in the comics Bucky trained Natasha in the Red Room. They have history and I lovvve them as a couple, so that's why I threw it in.**

 **Love, love, love you all! Thanks for reading!**

 **~OnYourLeft107**

* * *

She decided to go after him alone. The way Tony reacted to Steve's death convinced her he hadn't been a part of it, but still the fact that she had traced the hacker back to Stark's funded engineers made her more than uncomfortable. Natasha wondered if Tony had any idea. She wondered if he was pursuing the issue if he did know and had just kept that "minor detail" to himself. If he didn't know yet, she wondered how long it would take for him to find out.

With or without Fury's warning, Natasha didn't know who to trust. _I mean, that's kind of what happens to you when you're manipulated into a trained killer from childhood, you escape your abusers and join an organization to wipe out the things you were forced to do, only to find out that you've been painting in red for the people you thought you escaped the whole time. It really isn't a fun business, this whole super spy assassin thing._ Her thoughts replayed the conversation she had had with Steve when they found out HYDRA infiltrated SHIELD. _There's a chance you're in the wrong business…._

The least she could do, though, is what she thought Steve would've wanted. Try to get to Barnes. Save him, if she could. Disable him if she couldn't. Not kill. She had done enough in her time; so had he. They both probably deserved to die from an outside standpoint; she could see Stark's point of view. But Natasha was well aware of HYDRA's mind tricks and she knew what Bucky had been through, what they had made him do, what he couldn't unsee. She had known him before they made him their puppet. She had known him when there was still some of him left, when he still fought back with every ounce of him that could. And she knew, underneath it all, the real Bucky was undoubtedly good, no matter what his counterpart had done. Tony couldn't see that, and there was the difference. Steve could, and she had been there for it all.

It tore at her a bit, when the Accords had come up, because in reality she knew Bucky didn't deserve any more pain. She also knew what he faced if the government ever prosecuted him. Even before the U.N. bombing she had known she would be restricted from helping him if Steve ever actually went anywhere in his search. She hadn't known if she was okay with that.

 _Almost sent me into retirement, Barnes,_ she thought to herself with a smirk. If he could recognize her, if she could bring him back, she'd tell him. He'd be happy to hear it.

For now, though, she had to concentrate on finding him. He was a ghost, but she knew where to look. They were cut from the same cloth. She had gone after him before and she had told Steve it was a dead end. Well, it was, if you were looking for death and your end. _Still have that scar, Barnes. If we both make it out of this alive, we're having a long talk about Odessa. A long one._

* * *

It was a gorgeous day for a joyride, the birds were whistling and it was warm. A slight breeze freshened the air as Natasha bumped down the country roads. Too bad the reason she was out there was anything but joyful. The agent switched off the radio - all that was available were talk shows and country music anyways - so she could think.

Nat ran over her current list of known allies. She came up with one. Fury. Which was unhelpful considering he was technically dead and she didn't know where he was. Tony she had taken for granted as a trusted friend, but until she knew for sure if he had any connection to HYDRA, she wasn't going to contact him. He didn't know she had left town and she preferred to keep it that way.

There was the added side note that going after an internationally wanted criminal without government orders was illegal, especially after Natasha signed an official document binding her even further to the said international law. It was a shame, too. She had finally managed to stay off the government's radar for a while.

 _Oh well._

Years with HYDRA and then SHIELD had taught her the ins and outs of making the hard call. Going after hard cases was part of that learning experience, and this was yet another instance she could add to her growing resume. It was more than that, though, because these weren't just names on the list. These were her friends. This mission couldn't fail.

She located Barnes after pulling a few plugs. Turns out the Winter Soldier wasn't always as careful as he should be - or as invisible. He had just killed his best friend, though, so his mind probably wasn't overly concerned with the fact that he had left his tracks only partially covered.

And that's how she found herself holding a gun to his head and provoking some language from Sam.

* * *

"Both of you are coming with me."

Sam glared at the owner of the voice. "And why the hell would we do that?"

"If you don't, I'll spill his brains. Or, better yet, I'll leave you both. The people on their way won't be so merciful, and they're almost here."

"Natalia." He said it softly, as if the name was a cherished memory.

The title caught Black Widow off-guard and sent a sharp ache through her chest. No one had called her that since she had left Russia. That name. He didn't know her by any other. He, not it. Bucky, not the machine they turned him into.

Natasha retracted the gun. "Bucky?" she whispered, her voice significantly gentler.

Sam glanced between the two and took their moment of distraction to grab and cock the .22. "How do we know we can trust you?" he asked, tentatively pointing the rifle at Natasha. "I mean, you did just almost shoot him."

Bucky put his hand out and lowered Sam's gun. "It's okay. She's on our side."

"She wasn't the last time I saw her."

"Well, let's find out." Bucky whipped into a standing position and put Nat's hand that clutched the gun back against his head. "Take the shot. You know I deserve it. Those are the orders out right now, Natalia. 'Shoot on site.'" For a moment, she saw him falter, the challenging confidence fade, a desperate pain flash through his eyes. "You've got a clear shot." He swallowed. "Just take it."

For once, Black Widow lost her composure and he felt the gun tremble against his scalp. "You know I can't," Nat whispered, her expression wounded. "You know I never could." She lowered the gun and looked at him. "So, it's really you."

Sam's jaw dropped as deadly assassin pulled fatal ghost story into a hug. _Well obviously there's something I'm missing here._ He raised his eyebrows at Bucky. "Um, yeah, so, sorry I'm not following this, but the last time I saw you two in each other's vicinity, you _shot_ her."

"Told you I deserved the bullet," Bucky mumbled.

"No. No, you don't." She breathed him in, relaxed in his firm but gentle touch. "You didn't know. There was no way you could've stopped it." She stepped away, looked at him for a moment, then slapped him, not too hard. "But it hurt!"

"Were you really going to spill my brains," Bucky smiled as he asked, "if it wasn't me?"

"No. I just needed a dramatic entrance."

Sam almost doubled over. Did the revered Agent Romanoff - revered for her subtle but heartless fatality - just _wink_ at Bucky?

"Alright, alright, break it up. I don't know how you guys know each other or why all of a sudden we're supposed to be cool, but according to Natasha," he gave Bucky a pointed look, "we're all about to die or get captured by some brutal bad guys." He glared at the redhead. "Or was that also an empty threat?"

Natasha sobered. "No, that was real. Wilson's right, we should go."

"Of course I'm right," Sam muttered, grabbing what was his off the floor.

"Natasha, huh?" Bucky asked. "That's what they call you now?"

"I mean, we're in America, James. They're not going to go all Cold War on me."

"James?" Sam retorted. " _James_?"

Bucky glanced at Natasha. "Но вы все еще можете говорить по-русски, да*?"

She scoffed. "Конечно, Барнс, я не идиот.**"

"Okay! Enough with the Russian! Can we not brutally die?" Sam was flushing with irritation, although he'd never admit it. "I mean, I don't know if that's a concern for people like you, but I'd kinda like to make it outta here alive."

Natasha pulled the hood of her black sweatshirt over her bright red hair - which Bucky had always loved; some things never changed - and casually glanced outside the shed. Nothing in sight. "Alright, let's go. Both of you, get in the back," she said, calmly gesturing to the silver truck as she speed-walked to the driver's side. "Oh, and take the gun. You might need it."

* * *

*But you still speak Russian, right?

**Of course, Barnes, I'm not an idiot.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Yes, hello, I'm back! But only for a day. So my next update won't be until next week at least. Sorry, y'all, this one's fluffy (and more sappy than I wanted it to be, but oh well). I've got big plans. Some action (and more fluff tbh) is coming. Thanks for sticking around, I appreciate it. :)**

* * *

"Go fish."

Scott rolled his eyes as Wanda flashed a triumphant smile. "I think you're cheating," he grumbled, taking his due card.

"How does one cheat at 'Go Fish'?" she asked, suppressing a giggle.

"I don't know, start with mind control powers."

"Unless you are afraid of losing, I couldn't get into your mind," she countered. "And even then I couldn't control which cards you were dealt."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

It had been a long stretch of suspense for the two while Steve waited for word from Sam. He was in the adjacent room receiving physical therapy for his broken wrist and fractured foot. The doctor Sharon consulted gave her specific instructions of what exercises Steve should do and she insisted on him doing them in spite of their anxious situation.

It was a humbling sight, Captain America barely able to stand, wincing as he tried to take a step. The serum made him heal four times faster than the average man, but it still had only been roughly two weeks.

"Sorry," Sharon murmured as Steve squinted his eyes shut. A particularly sharp pain shot through his foot and up his leg.

"It's not your fault," he replied with a huffed sigh. The soldier took a deep breath and concentrated on the pain as he tried the stretch again. They were a curse and a blessing, his injuries. On one hand, he couldn't go after his friends; on the other, they were somewhat of a distraction from his mind swimming with "what if's."

After a few minutes, Sharon made him take a break. "I'm going to get you some ice." She helped him to his bed and walked out, leaving Steve to hear fragments of conversation through the walls.

"You're sure? You're sure I can't call her?" It was Scott. "Just five minutes, that's all I need….to hear her voice….so Cassie knows I'm safe." Steve knew Sharon's heart must be breaking but the reply was still a soft "no." It had been the same plead every day since they arrived at base.

In spite of his worry over not hearing from Sam, not knowing if Bucky was still alive, Steve still found room in his heart for an extra tinge of guilt. Guilt over dragging everyone into this mess. "You sure there's nothing you can do?" he asked as Sharon returned. "He lost her once, he's afraid to lose her again. You've heard how he talks about her. She's his whole world."

Sharon slid the ice against his leg. "I know, Steve, I know. If there was anything I could do…." She walked to her desk scattered with files. She had moved her office space into his room to keep him company during the day. Sharon planted both hands and leaned over the mess. "If there was anything, _anything_ I could do, I would." Head bent, eyes squeezed shut, she let out a hiccupped sob. "I wish there was something I could do. For him, for you, for everyone. But I just-" Her shoulders began to shake as she finally broke down. "I just can't."

Two arms wrapped around her, turned her around, pulled her close. It felt good to lean against someone else for once, when so often it seemed she was holding everyone up. She rarely cried. She rarely could. But the frustration over feeling so helpless, the anxiety over people's lives, whether they would live to see tomorrow, the lack of sleep and the amount of people who were counting on her had finally become too overwhelming to bear. She needed to cry. And he held her through it.

They stood there for a few minutes, Sharon sobbing, Steve aching for her, until she realized he wasn't supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be holding her. Not when he wasn't allowed to try holding himself up yet.

She stepped away from him, wiping the blur of tears from her eyes. "Steve! Get back in bed, you're, y-you're not supposed - the doctors are going to kill me! And you, unless you've already killed yourself by getting up - why would you do that?" She frowned at his drawn but amused expression, caught him as he swayed and guided him to the bed again.

"'Why?'" he said, looking at her with compassion in his eyes. "Why? Because I don't want you to think that you're alone. Or that you haven't done more than any of us could've asked for. People talk about the Avengers as superheroes, when the real heroes are the people we lean on." He smiled at her blushing cheeks. "I wouldn't be alive without you. I can never repay that." He gently moved a stray hair out of her eyes. "Well, that, and I love you."

"Stop!" She looked at the ceiling and blinked fast, trying in vain to keep more tears from spilling over. "You're making me cry even more." But she was smiling through the tears.

He interlaced his fingers through hers and kissed her hand. "I promise it'll all work out. It always does."

But even as Steve said it, his own doubt grew.


	10. Chapter 10

"Hey. How're you doing?" Clint took a seat beside Wanda, who was now sitting alone. She had arrived the night before after the U.N. released their latest amendment to the wanted list - she was on it. He found her in the common area on an old leather couch. There weren't enough agents at the abandoned base to fill it up, and for the most part, they kept to themselves. Which meant the common area was uncommonly occupied.

The room was mostly bare, as was the rest of the base, because SHIELD had cleared out most of its equipment and items that would have made it "homey" - wall hangings, furniture, rugs - as well as most of its advanced technology. The agents that were currently residing there had brought along what they could, but the place still felt massive and empty.

The atmosphere was much the same throughout the base: concrete walls, floors, and ceilings in every room besides a couple of "window walls," as Scott dubbed them, that were all glass, located in former interrogation and holding areas, and the common metal doors with thin glass panes looking in. No one could deny that it was a great place to lay low, but it certainly wasn't the most encouraging environment. They had done their best to make use of the center, though. The old interrogation rooms were turned into hospital residencies and the former lab had agents and Avengers alike camping out beside monitors and laptops streaming news coverage. They were waiting up through all hours of the night for a glimmer of hope. That glimmer just hadn't come yet.

Wanda smoothed her crimson skirt and looked up at Clint. She was a stark sight among the rest of the populace dressed in black or gray. "I am as well as I can be, with our family split apart. It is hard, because that is what the Avengers were becoming. My family. At least, that is what I thought."

Clint nodded. "It's a rough spell right now. Things can't stay sour between everyone for too long, though. The public needs us. More than that, we need each other. Does Steve know you're here yet?"

"I think so." She twisted one of her bracelets. "I don't know."

"Have you gone to see him?"

"Not yet." She blinked as she stared at the pale hands in her lap, adorned with jewelry, capable of magic, but fragile all the same. "I am afraid. This was all done to him by a man who claimed revenge for my homeland. But he was wrong. My people, Sokovians, are not all filled with hatred as he was. I do not know if all will see it that way, though."

"You're afraid Steve won't want to see you because of Zemo?"

"My accent. I am afraid it could do more damage than good. It could trigger unwanted memories."

He was touched by her concern, her thoughtfulness. "I think you should at least say hello. He knows your voice, he'll know it's you." Clint smiled at her reassuringly. "He's a big boy. He can handle it. And he'd be happy to see you safe."


	11. Chapter 11

"So, you're on our side now?" Sam asked, eyeing Natasha with a hint of suspicion still lingering.

She glanced both ways for any followers or signs of life before edging the truck onto the dirt road, sending a cloud of dust billowing from the tires to the windows. It didn't seem like it had rained for a while in the area, and on a hot day like this, she was glad to have an air-conditioned vehicle. Pebbles clinked against the sides of the pickup as it gathered speed. "Governments don't play nice. Sides or not, I'd be sorry to see either of you go." Her lip curled slightly. "Even though one of you did shoot me. Twice."

"How many times do I have to apologize?" Bucky pleaded. "I never would've done it if it was really me."

She grinned. "Ты знаешь, я просто дразня."*

He rolled his eyes. "я знаю."**

"Can we stop with the Russian? English! English for the non-soviet in the car." Sam grumbled a few unintelligible words under his breath and then his hand brushed the phone in his pocket. "I guess now would be a good time to tell Steve I found you. Better to do it while we're still alive," he mumbled, referring to Bucky but talking to no one in particular.

The truck lurched to a standstill as Nat slammed on the break and paled slightly, gripping the wheel with whitened knuckles. She turned, slowly, and glared at the two in the backseat. The words came out thick and slurred, quiet with a rage underneath. "Did you just say you were going to talk to _Steve_?"

Sam frowned. "Yeah…."

"You mean to tell me, that all this time, Rogers hasn't been dead?"

"Um...yes," Bucky answered, knowing they were in deep trouble but not knowing why.

"Damn him!" Her cheeks began to flush with shock, relief, and anger. "That wasn't the first thing you thought to tell me when I rescued your sorry asses?"

"Um...yes?" Bucky tensed, a realization hitting him. "All this time you thought I killed him and you still came to help?"

Natasha didn't have a chance to answer.

"We've got an undercover patrol on our right, Nat," warned Sam, glancing out the rear window. "We need to book it or we won't live to listen to you yell."

"I've got half a mind to kick you out the door and let you fend for yourselves you идиоты! Конечно, я застрял с тобой со всех людей. Я ненавижу эту работу."*** She gave both of them the most murderous look they had ever seen (which was saying something) and stepped on the gas. "I'll get us out of here. But you're not getting out of talking later."

Somehow, that seemed worse than anything the police could do.

"What'd she call us?" Sam whispered, offended by her spurt of Russian, even though he was clueless on what it meant.

Bucky suppressed a smile. "You don't want to know."

* * *

*You know I'm just teasing

**I know

***Idiots! Of course, I'm stuck with you of all people. I hate this job.


	12. Chapter 12

" _The quest to capture the wanted terrorist James Buchanan Barnes took a dramatic turn yesterday as police trailed the vehicle they suspected the criminal was making a getaway in. This initiated a car chase which ended in a crash with the suspect's vehicle in fragments around a tree. As authorities searched the scene they found no sign of Barnes or any other passengers. No explanation has been released from the forces on the case and it seems whoever was in the truck simply vanished. Police are still searching the area for a lead. We will keep you updated on this story as it develops._

" _The president just signed an important executive order regarding…."_

"What do you think happened?" asked Wanda, watching Steve for his reaction rather than the T.V..

"I don't know, but if it was him, he's good at disappearing. We know he's not dead if they couldn't find a body, and for now, they're at least at loss for a lead. If Sam had found him before and was with him in the car, he's still safe too." Steve shrugged off the feeling dancing through his chest and up his throat. "I guess we gotta take it as a positive."

"You two have a fun time catching up?" asked Sharon, smiling at Wanda as she walked in with a laptop in hand. "I assume you've heard the news." She looked at Steve. "No call yet?"

"None," Steve confirmed with a disappointed sigh. "How long is it gonna take?"

Sharon put her hand on her hip. "You know, I'm starting to think that maybe we should call him-"

And then it happened.

A twinkling, peppy ringtone filled the room and for a moment, everyone froze. Then Steve frantically pulled the brick from his pocket and fumbled to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Steven Grant Rogers I have a lot to say to you, you son of a b-"

"Nat! Nat?" Steve's initial response would have been, _It's nice to hear your voice_ , but the way things had gone lately, he really wasn't sure if that was true. Then there was the confusing aspect of the person on the other line _not_ being Sam or Bucky and he couldn't help but wonder if there was something he was missing. These thoughts flooded him over the course of about two seconds, then he stammered out the first thing he thought to say and hoped his anxiety wasn't too evident. "How are you?"

"Oh, fine and dandy," came the reply dripping with sarcasm. "Would you care to explain to me why you decided to die on national television, Rogers?"

"It's not like it was my decision to-"

"And then _not_ tell me or anyone else on the team you were alive?" she interrupted. "Except birdbrain and psycho-assassin?"

Muffled protests of " _Hey!"_ and " _Woah, sister, we didn't call yo' pretty face names when we were mad,"_ sounded in the background.

"I'm sorry," the soldier admitted, and in all honesty, he was. "But how did you get the phone?"

"None of your sass, Steve. You don't think I'm letting you off the hook that easy, do you?" He could hear her vexation. "I'm just getting started."

Steve winced. "Sam's alive, right? Is Bucky with you? That crash looked pretty bad."

He heard some scrambling in the feedback and then a distant voice pierced through. " _Yeah, I'm alive, brotha', but I don't know for how long. I'd face those HYDRA dudes over this woman when she's angry any day."_

"Nat…." Steve warned.

" _My man Bucky-Cheezes is here, too,"_ Sam continued to shout in the background, followed by an exasperated sigh Steve could only guess came from the man himself.

There was some scuffling. " _How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, idiot,"_ Bucky grumbled, while Natasha, still fuming, cleared her throat.

"You know that Tony completely lost it when you died? And how are you not actually dead? Did you really think pulling a Fury move was a good idea?"

Steve wasn't sure which question to answer first. "Uh...no. To the Fury idea. I'm not dead thanks to basically the entire portion of the team that was outlawed, plus some individuals that are laying low now because they were outlawed as a result. And what about Tony? Is he okay?"

"No, not really, Steve. I know you don't think you're a big part of this team, or that you're important or needed, but you are. And you can't go around disappearing and then...dying like that." There were softer emotions under the anger in her voice. "Just...don't do it again."

Steve heaved a quiet sigh. "You really think I plan to?" he asked, trying to lighten his voice. "It wasn't fun."

"Steve."

Her lowered voice gripped his attention immediately. "What?"

"I don't know if I should be telling you this, but I found a connection between Zemo and Tony."

"Him and _Tony_?" Steve's stomach somersaulted. "I don't believe you."

"And neither would he, probably. But do you think I would make something like this up? We have reason to believe someone who worked for him personally was a mole."

"Who's 'we'?"

"SHIELD."

Steve smirked. "I don't have reason to believe anything SHIELD says. Not anymore." His tone was cold and stubborn and Nat didn't like it.

"Now is not the time to be difficult, Rogers. Look, there isn't time to explain it now, but be careful who you contact. I'll fill you in later. Where are you?"

"How do I know I can trust you?'

"How have you ever known? I mean, at least this time I risked my life and ruined my name - again - to rescue your indignant war pals. Isn't that proof enough?"

Faintly, Steve heard her companions dispute.

Sam snorted. " _I am_ not _indignant."_

" _Yeah, you can say that again,"_ came Bucky's sarcastic reply, followed by, " _Do you even know what that word means?"_ There was a thump, a half-hearted groan, and Sam's triumphant laughter.

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn't hold back a smile. "Alright," he agreed, "fair enough."

"And don't expect me to do it again. It's hard enough to babysit the team without the government on my tail." She must have said something to his friends because the background noise suddenly stopped. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think these two are worse than you."

"Yeah? Well, sorry about that." He could see Sharon laughing her agreement at her desk. "I'm at the same place I was before. Sam knows the way. Try to get here with minimal injuries if you can." He glanced at Sharon sheepishly and gave Wanda a fatherly wink. "I think I drained most of our medical supplies."

"I'm not promising anything, but I'll do my best."

"Nat?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

She scoffed. "Don't mention it. I told you I still owed you one."


	13. Chapter 13

Cracks latticed across the windshield as it shattered, the airbags going off. Sirens blared, blood rushed down over his right eye. Bucky had landed hard on his left arm; his ribs shot with pain every time he tried to move. Sam had been thrown on top of him and wasn't attempting to shift his position. He couldn't see Natasha.

Panic. Sheer panic was his first reaction. They had found him. They had found him and they would take him away. And they would take his friends. And everyone would die, if they weren't already dead. There was no escape.

He could hardly move his lungs but his heart was abnormally fast. The sirens grew louder, the undercover cop apparently calling for backup. Bucky tried to push Sam off of him, but realized there was nowhere to push him to. The entire right side of the truck was crushed in, the two in the back pinned against the left door. He tried to move his left arm, but two men's weight held it down. He tried to move his fingers, slowly inching them toward the door handle. He was almost there when-

 _Click_.

It opened. And he hadn't opened it.

This was it. This was where they shot him down or put him in handcuffs to be killed later. There wasn't anything he could do.

And then he met her eyes.

 _Natalia_. _Oh thank God. Thank God you're okay._

She put her finger to her lips, pulled him out none too gently, and they managed to bring Sam with them before any police made it through the wreckage and smoke. The two of them, half carrying half dragging Sam, slipped into the woods. It seemed like they ran forever, the pain threatening to knock Bucky unconscious with every footfall. It also seemed like his right foot had been crushed in the crash. But stronger than anything was his fear of being caught, going back behind bars in someone else's power. So he ran. He ran with all the willpower he had. Until finally, she told him they were safe. And he collapsed, too overwhelmed to take in his surroundings or realize where they were.

Bucky shut his eyes, shut off his mind, and for the first time since they hit the tree, took a second to breathe.

* * *

"Looks like you took a hit there."

Bucky's eyes fluttered open and he tilted his head in Sam's direction. The Falcon was slowly propping himself up against the smooth cement wall, groaning plenty while he did it.

Bucky reached to feel the dried blood over his eye and realized the gash itself wasn't dry yet. "Yeah, guess I did." He rubbed the red liquid off on his jeans and sighed.

It was a warehouse again. He didn't have great associations with warehouses at this point. But it's not as if they had anywhere else to go.

"How did we even get here?" asked Sam, gingerly touching a purple-blue bruise that was spreading across his side.

"Doesn't matter. We're here now and I'm getting us out as soon as I can find a replacement for my truck. _My_ truck. That I had to total because of you two." Nat, clearly, was still more than unhappy with their current situation. Sam looked to Bucky for clarification.

The veteran shrugged. "We carried you."

Sam didn't look thrilled with the explanation, but he wasn't about to start complaining either. "So, whadda we do?"

"We lay low until the the authorities clear out." Nat held up the brick Sam had clutched since the day Sharon handed it to him. It, at least, had made it out of the wreck with minimal damage. "I'm calling our friend who came back from the dead."

* * *

Bucky had felt uneasy, to put it lightly, since he had last seen Steve, and his nervousness increased since the crash. Natalia's attitude wasn't helping, either. _Well,_ Natasha _, now, apparently. That's going to take some getting used to._ Earlier, he had pushed his anxieties away, letting them bubble beneath the surface of his restless calm. A dangerous move, because now they were coming at him in full force. One was the main source of the fluttering ache in his chest:

He was going to have to face Steve.

It would probably take at least a couple of careful days of travelling before they'd reach the compound. Even still, that wasn't much time.

He had strained to hear Steve's voice while Nat talked to him, tried to pick up on his inflection and pitch, see how he was doing. His voice had sounded normal enough, a little weary and wary, but who wasn't these days. A voice wasn't much to go off of, though, and Natalia - Natasha - hadn't tortured the man in the recent past. But at least it was something. A reassurance, however small, that maybe his friend was okay. Or at least reaching somewhere near there. For now, that's what Bucky let himself believe, because any suggestion that Steve was otherwise was difficult to think about.

 _This is the second time, Barnes. You're not safe to be around him. You're too easily broken and switched into_ it. _Turn back. Turn back. Don't risk his life and your own._

His brain wouldn't shut up about it, but his heart told him otherwise. It did seem like the better option, to back out, and for a solid hour of the drive, he considered it. Where he could slip off to, how he could climb out of the rental without the other two noticing, where he would leave an apology, and fade back into nothing again. But every scenario he could think of ended the same way. Not well.

So Bucky set his jaw, took a deep breath, and accepted the harsh reality. He was going to have to look Steve Rogers in the eye sooner or later, and he wasn't going to back down now. It wasn't going to be pretty, but it had to be done. After all, Steve was his friend, this was his mission, and he was in it til the end of the line.

The soldier leaned against the window, listened to the hum of the car engine, and settled down for the ride.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hey everyone!**

 **Just a quick update - I'm going on vaca and then going back to school soon, so my updates may become even more inconsistent than they already have been. Sorry, I'll do my best. ;) I've never had two stories requiring updates at the same time, either, so that's interesting.**

 **Also, "Joseph Saria" is a random name I made up for an OC. Any correlation to real life is pure coincidence.**

 **Thank you again, so much, for reading. Love you all!**

* * *

It was 3:43 a.m..

F.R.I.D.A.Y. had ceased to suggest, "Mr. Stark, perhaps you should sleep," approximately two hours ago, when Tony had become so irritated he had yelled for her to shut up (with several expletives thrown in.) If artificial intelligence systems had feelings, she'd be offended, as he had only turned her back on for the first time since Steve's death four hours earlier.

Tony paced the length of his lab, if that was an appropriate name for his research area, and tried not to drive himself insane. _Well, first off, Steve's dead._ The system noticed increased heart rate, blood pressure, shift in breathing patterns, uptake in movement. _Yeah, let's not think about that._ He bit his lip. _Nat's not picking up._ Tony had left three voicemails, each slightly more urgent and agitated than the one before. _And, essentially, I had a terrorist working out of my basement. Wonderful._

This was not good. He initially blamed himself for Steve's death, but maybe there was more truth in the self-blame than he thought. The override signal for the stations was sent from Avengers' Tower. No one besides him and his staff of researchers had been in the building. It hadn't been him, so it must've been someone he hired.

Digging deeper through the databases, running searches and tracing activity, he had uncovered who it was. Joseph Saria, a man he had trusted. Who also happened to be dead now of unknown causes. Go figure. Tony could only guess one of two things. Either Saria had been found out and assassinated by the "good guys," or Zemo had thought him replaceable.

 _There's gotta be something. Some way to track Zemo down, some slip up he made._ On edge, Tony paused to stare at the partially transparent display. Then he began sifting through again. Saria had been granted more access to his tech than most, and for all the engineer knew, he could have hacked his way through the rest.

Tony zoomed in on his Classified folder. Was it possible Joseph could have broken the clearance and gathered inspiration from some of his prototype-stage (and probably illegal if actually used) software? The contents were barely tested and never prioritized over his other projects, and the folder was mostly filled with scraps of partially formulated ideas. Still, in the wrong hands, they could be dangerous.

He searched the folder for anything added or accessed between a month before the incident and the present. Nothing came up. Tony cancelled the search, but he still had an uneasy feeling. So he began manually scrolling through the files.

One of the icons was titled "Unnamed." That was wrong. Tony labeled everything. No one else had system permissions to the Classified folder to pull a prank, not even Pepper. He hovered his hand over the file. The description said it was created the date of Steve's death. But it hadn't shown up in the search results. Under last accessed it said...three minutes ago. Tony hadn't opened any files.

His heart rate became a little unsteady as he selected it, unsure of what he would find.

It was a recording.

" _Hello, Mr. Stark. Unfortunately, as the Fates would have it, we are not meeting face to face. It's a shame; two geniuses such as ourselves could accomplish much together."_

His brain took a second to register it, but Tony knew who it was. The narrator from the broadcast, only paired with glinting eyes and a murderous smile this time.

" _By the time you find this, your friend will be dead…."_

Tony flinched as he heard a guttural scream of pain in the background. He had never heard Cap scream like that before, but there was no doubt it was him.

" _Of course, he deserved it…."_

"No, he didn't, you son of a b-"

" _But that's besides the point. I know you will be looking for me and_ yearning _for revenge. Perhaps I can offer it to you."_

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., backup this file immediately."

"It's scheduled to terminate, sir."

"Make a copy."

"Uncopiable."

Frustration. He had anxious ears for any information his opponent was about to provide, paired with an overdose of disbelief and doubt.

" _Right now, it is likely your hatred is centered on me, but perhaps it shouldn't be."_

"Yeah, right."

" _I have in my possession footage and information regarding your parents' death."_

What.

Tony was stunned out of his anger, his swearing breath cut short. That wasn't what he was expecting. At all. Wasn't what he was prepared for, either.

Slow breaths. Slow breaths. Or attempts at them at least.

" _You might be interested to know their deaths were planned, who planned them, and who killed them."_

Tony's head spun. _Assassinated? But they were-_

" _Unfortunately, that's all I can say. If you want more information, Mr. Stark, you'll have to find me."_

 _Oh, I will._

A grin swept across the villain's face and the recording was cut off.

For a moment, Tony could do nothing but stare and feel the sweat dripping down his face. Then he swallowed dryly.

"I need a drink."


	15. Chapter 15

The hours passed slowly, driving the roads that were mostly deserted in the middle of the night. Besides the occasional semi on the highway, there weren't many vehicles to be seen. On a regular occasion, Natasha would speed a little, make better time on the open roads. But being pulled over with two wanted criminals in her car didn't sound like a fun time.

 _They're kinda cute when they're not trying to kill each other_. She smirked, glancing in her rearview mirror at the two sleeping in the backseat. They had squeezed themselves as far away from each other as they could after their recent quarrel over who could sit shotgun. Natasha had ended that fight with a single sentence. "You're both going to sit in the backseat, end of story."

 _So, this is what being a mom feels like. Huh._

She would put music on, but she liked them asleep. They were easier to deal with. But her thoughts weren't, not in a silent car. Driving in the dark. Low on sleep.

 _What am I doing?_ It was a question Nat had asked herself time and time again. She had always hoped the answer was, "the right thing," but she didn't have much confidence left in her moral compass. Not anymore.

 _That's why I need Steve_. _That's why I trust him so much._ He was the one person on the team she could go to at any time, whenever she doubted herself, whenever she needed someone to listen, someone to understand. It didn't matter what he was dealing with, he was always just...there. Always.

And when he had "died"...well, her world went spinning. He was so reliable. To not have him around….Nat needed someone who could give insight because he had been there and he knew the fight. She never realized how much she needed him. Not in the cliche, romantic way. It wasn't like that. It was deeper, closer. Like a friend, like a brother. Like her family.

And those late nights he woke up still in that other time, still fighting the war that was already won, he had called her. Her, Sam, or Sharon, depending on what the flashback was. Depending on if he had the strength of mind to pick up the phone.

Sometimes he had called to explain it, for someone to listen. Sometimes he had called and as soon as she picked up, he had simply said, "Start talking," because it was too much to handle and he needed his mind on other things.

No matter what, though, they had been there for each other. As it should be. They were on the same team, they looked out for each other. He was grounded, solid, but he had his self-blame, he had his scars, he had his doubts. She was uncertain, flexible, but she was strong and she was responsible. And in some ways, they were the same.

She had gone off on him over the phone. But it was only because she had cared. Her entire life had been about self control, but her emotions had always been intense. Steve knew that; he could handle her. She was so incredibly angry and relieved and about a dozen other things all at the same time, she had expressed herself for once. And she wasn't sorry.

Now, there was a happy excitement in her heart, to see and make sure he was truly alive. There was worry, too. Worry over Bucky; she didn't know how much he remembered. He certainly remembered her, but she didn't know if he was prepared to see Steve so soon. Worry over Sam; he was injured, they all were, but he had taken the brunt of the crash. Hopefully they'd all last the ride without major incident. Worry over the rest of the team that was scattered, worry over the future, worry over what came next. Worry over Tony. Tony didn't know Steve was still alive. There was no telling what he might do when he found out. She had dropped contact with him completely.

As the car coasted to a stop at a red light, she rested her head on the steering wheel. _It's a mess._ The light turned green, she accelerated and smiled in spite of herself. _What else is new._


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hey, just a quick note:**

 **Sharon doesn't officially have a middle name. But I think that's dumb. So I gave her Margaret after Peggy. :)**

 **Also, this chapter is a result of everyone (meaning my one friend) complaining about all the pain and sorrow lately, so here's your fluff.** **My guilty pleasure is Natasha in mom mode. Enjoy.**

 **Thanks for reading! Love y'all!**

 **~OnYourLeft107**

* * *

It was almost 3 a.m. when Sharon heard a knock on the back door. She cocked her gun and kept one hand on it as a precaution, but she was fairly certain that anyone who wanted them dead wouldn't ask quietly for entrance. Still, it would've been a comfort if the surveillance cameras were operational. _Oh well. We can't all have what we want,_ she thought, listening for a moment before she undid the locks. _The amount of times I could have died is endless. What's another addition to the bunch?_

Cautiously, she inched the door open. But there had been no need to be careful. She was met with Bucky's nervous, guilty smile, Natasha's glinting eyes, and Sam's stumbling into the base at the first chance he had.

Sharon caught Sam as he nearly fell, steadying him as well as she could. "You're hurt," she observed as the door was bolted behind them. "You're all hurt. How bad was it getting out there?"

"I've seen worse," muttered Nat. "I managed to keep from getting hurt, other than a bruised shoulder from the crash. Nothing to worry about. Sam, on the other hand, probably has at least a concussion and bruised if not fractured ribs. He should be checked."

Sam merely nodded in agreement. His head throbbed and he was too exhausted to speak.

"And what about you?" asked Sharon quietly, addressing Bucky. "Are you okay?"

Bucky seemed as if he had forgotten to breathe. He met her eyes for only a moment before dropping them and shrugging. "Well...I'm alive."

"Good thing, too. I'd rather do anything then tell Steve otherwise."

The soldier stiffened at the name. So, he still wasn't quite recovered. That was to be expected; it could take some time. And maybe it had been a hasty decision to bring Steve up so soon, but she had received a reaction, negative or not, and that's what she was looking for. Sharon needed to know what she was dealing with.

She softened her voice with a gentle smile. "Well, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you."

Right now, it looked like a weary, wounded trio of agents - if she could call them that - who needed medical attention, food, and sleep badly. And a little reassurance, as she had reminded Bucky, that they were safe now, they could breathe. All her life, Sharon felt she hadn't been able to do much; at least, not nearly as much as she wanted to. But she was determined to do as much as she could to help pull her broken friends back together.

After all three were cleaned up, Sharon sent Bucky and Sam off to share a room where they could rest. Sam gratefully accepted, and despite Bucky's anxious state, his eyes were just as bloodshot as his friend's. Sharon hoped he would calm down a little before seeing Steve, but she knew it wasn't likely that Steve would be quiet either. Still, Bucky followed Sam into the empty room and lay down on his cot. Maybe things would turn out okay.

* * *

"So, how was it? Pulling Steve back from the dead?" Natasha had asked for coffee but accepted the whiskey-and-hot-tea concoction Sharon offered with equal thirst. Apparently it was one of Peggy's favorites, and after tasting it, the Widow had no objections. Sharon raised her own mug in a silent toast before the two sat down in the rec room to talk.

They were old friends. Sharon knew Nat through SHIELD before she had met Steve. Everybody in SHIELD knew Sharon as the founder's niece; Peggy had set a high standard for her to meet. Few within SHIELD knew her outside of work or her family reputation, however. Natasha was one of those few.

"It was one of the worst nights of my life, to say the least." Sharon laughed joylessly as her eyes traced the wood-grain of the table. "One of the worst and the best."

"Because you thought you were about to lose everything. Live in a world you didn't know." Natasha smiled faintly, glassy understanding in her eyes.

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed between the two, not because they didn't know what to say, but because there were too many things to communicate. Neither knew where to start.

"It's nice," Nat said, after a minute or two had passed, "to finally be free from checking over my shoulder every ten seconds. You have every idea of how insane the last couple of months have been."

Sharon chuckled. "Can't help but think back to the good old days every now and then, when I was still training and we used to pull pranks on Clint."

"He didn't appreciate that a whole lot, y'know," came a deeper voice from the doorway of the room.

Natasha looked up and smiled to see the man himself. "Good to see you're not dead."

"Same to you. It kinda sucked being the only Galaga player at the base. I mean, I beat everyone, it's no fun." Clint had a twinkle in his eye.

Nat smirked. "Well, that won't be an issue anymore."

"I told my kids no one would ever defeat me." He frowned.

Nat's smile turned to a nonchalant shrug. "Too bad they'll be disappointed."

Clint grinned and walked away down the hall, whistling to himself.

"Yeah, those were good times," Nat agreed with Sharon after he left, taking a long sip of the warm drink and sighing. "So, how are you?"

"Fine. I mean, everything has been holding together for the most part. Steve's doing better, everyone who's here seems to be okay, no one knows our location yet-"

"No." Nat looked her dead in the eye. "How are _you_?"

Sharon gave her a distant smile. "Alright, I guess. How am I ever when people I love almost die? It's not easy."

"Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Sharon Margaret Carter. Don't lie to me."

The blonde gave her a sour look. "Okay, fine. Probably not as well as I should be. But there's Steve and the rest of the team and now Bucky and Sam and you-"

"Shh. No. When was the last time you slept?" Nat gave her the mom look. "As in actually slept, not a three hour cat nap."

"I don't know, Wednesday night."

"It's Saturday morning. That's pitiful. Get your butt into a bed."

"Nat." Sharon groaned. "You haven't slept either. I'm supposed to be worried about y-"

"I don't want to hear it, Carter. Now, go on."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Only if you sleep, too. Otherwise the deal's off."

It was Natasha's turn to groan in protest. "Someone with sense has to be up."

Sharon crossed her arms. "Well that rules you out, then." She nodded toward the couches. "Wanna crash here?"

"Sure."

And that's how Clint was given an easy opportunity for a revenge prank as two highly qualified SHIELD agents napped on the rec room furniture.

* * *

"Honestly. Of all the nerve," grumbled Natasha with more than mild annoyance as she rinsed the shaving cream off her face several hours later. "This is why I have trust issues. The one moment you see an opportunity to sleep…." She couldn't help but smile at Sharon's white fluffy beard and eyebrows.

"I guess we deserved it," sighed Sharon, amused as she saw her reflection in the mirror. The two were washing up in the old, rather sketchy women's bathroom.

"We would, except we've saved his life enough times that you'd think he'd take a hint that we've paid it back."

"Taking hints? It's Clint. He's not good at that sort of thing."

"I heard that," shouted the familiar voice traveling down the hallway.

"Oops," Sharon whispered. "I thought he was still deaf."

Natasha glanced at her, then bit her lip to stifle the giggles. "Apparently not."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Hello wonderful peoples! Happy Labor Day!**

 **I apologize that this chapter is all over the place. Eheh. Hopefully it's still good, though.**

 **I'm thinking about writing another sequel after I finish this story. (This isn't the last chapter, don't worry.) Thoughts? I'd probably include more Tony. If you think you would enjoy it, and you feel so inclined, let me know in a review or PM me. :)**

 **Thanks again for reading!**

 **~OnYourLeft107**

* * *

"I know, I know, Steve. I know I gotta start runnin' again. Haven't had much time lately, now that I've had to babysit the kids while you and Sharon are out….Yeah, they were good while you were gone." Sam rolled over in bed and mumbled through the rest of his dream. "Yeah, yeah…." He vaguely and half-heartedly gestured in the air. "I gave it to them…." His brows knitted into a frown. "Well I….No, I wanted ice cream, too! That isn't fair!"

Bucky smiled as several strings of army vocabulary tumbled out of the sound-asleep man. Now that Sam was sleeping more peacefully, his mindless conversation was amusing. Bucky had lain awake the whole night so far, listening to the silence only interrupted when his friend talked in his sleep. Earlier, the topics hadn't been as laughable. Some sort of nightmare about Riley. Drenched sheets, grinding teeth, contorted positions. Finally, eyes flicked open and staring, frozen on the wall across the room.

Bucky knew exactly how that felt.

So he talked to Sam quietly until his breaths slowed, the trembling stopped, his eyes shifted to see what was really there. Sam had looked at Bucky who was lying on his bed in the opposite corner, given him silent thanks, and rolled over to face the other way. Bucky understood and let him be.

Terrifying dreams didn't frequent his nights as much any more, but he was so used to avoiding sleep because of them that sometimes Bucky couldn't close his eyes even if he wanted to. He had been more than a little disoriented and shocked when he _woke up_ at the base. The two previous nights he had barely been able to relax, even with someone guarding the car at all times. So, when Sam nudged him awake to say they made it, he blinked more than usual. _I must've been really exhausted_ , he thought to himself. _Still am._

His anxiety had only changed nature since he reached the base, not dissipated. Instead of being scared for his life and suffocating in anticipation, he was letting the realization sink in. He was there. Steve was only a few rooms down the hall. Last time he had been in his room, Steve had been dying. Now, apparently, he was relearning to walk. He'd probably be up in a few hours; it was about 5:15 a.m. now. Steve was probably sleeping, as he should be, with absolutely no idea that his almost-assassin was in the building.

What Bucky didn't know was that he wasn't the only one up.

* * *

Steve sat in bed, eyelids heavy but unable or unwilling to sleep. The only light was the bare bulb lamp next to his bed that cast a warm yellow tint on the pages of his sketchpad. He had already drawn several sketches, three of which he took extra time on.

The first was of his mom, softly shaded with smooth lines and easy strokes. A simple beauty. Youthful even as she aged. Bright eyes, soft with compassion, hard with years of work and want of justice. Similar to the last picture he had of her - a photo taken before she was sick. He missed her more than she'd ever know. He'd trade almost anything to spend one more day with her, feel the love radiating out of her heart for everyone around her to absorb. She was an amazing woman. He wanted her back.

The second drawing was of a sinking plane flown into an iceberg by a man who had known nothing in that moment but regret, sadness, and his duty, despite the desperation he felt. Bold, sharp, cruel lines made up the contour, the shading staggered and rough, the picture created from a memory that still stung in his mind. He wouldn't admit he had a death wish, but he hadn't been able to come up with much to live for, either.

Except Peggy.

But as it turned out, she was meant for another man, to marry, settle down, have kids. Have everything he couldn't give her: stability, a quiet life. Everything he lost hope of doing. That man went into the ice seventy years ago. The guy that came out wasn't the same.

" _I have lived a life. My only regret is that you didn't get to live yours."_

It was a hard truth. But he was happy for her. She had found her peace. She had deserved it. He wished it was that simple for him now.

He had moved on long ago; his memory of her was of a woman he was fond of, rather than one of a lost, tragic lover. Chance, Providence perhaps, had thrown him into the path of Sharon, whom he deeply loved, who had been with him every step of the way since they met. She was a woman who genuinely cared about people and had a heartfelt love for almost everyone she met, even if it was hard to see at first. He couldn't deny he wanted to marry her, settle down, start a family, stay off the grid. But he knew even if that did happen, he could never be totally free of his responsibility to his country and the world. He had signed up. It was the war he had chosen. He couldn't abandon the fight.

The third picture was dark. Darker than usual. More of a feeling transferred onto paper than the impersonation of an object. He had attempted to create on the page what he fought in his mind. Discouragement. Despair. Depression. Fear. Anxiety. Regret. Loneliness. Pain. Hate. Anger.

The Dark. And everything that came with it.

Seems like the little kid from Brooklyn had been stronger than the man he was today. If the boy had problems, he had dealt with them, solved them as best he could. Nightmares? Shook them off. Fears? Overcome them.

What happened to him?

What happened to the kid with hopes and wants and dreams that were so far fetched even his best friend thought he was overzealous at times? What happened to the boy with the confidence of a man three times his size and a heart so incredibly big and strong despite its feeble beat? What happened?

Steve Rogers grew up.

He joined the army.

It changed him.

Now his ambition was lowered to the point of survival. Of righting wrongs. Nothing crazy. Nothing for himself. His confidence had dripped away until there was little left except when he threw reason to the wind and decided not to care. His heart had hardened on the outside but inside it was still raw and throbbing, just not quite as open or trusting anymore. And now, recognition was a curse. Steve wished he could be nobody again, but he couldn't be anymore. He was Captain America. Everything was a battle now.

" _Captain America, God's righteous man. Pretending you could live without a war."_ Ultron had been right. He couldn't. And that was one thing that hadn't changed. He was always fighting something or someone. Just more recently, it had mostly been himself. He had never been a passive person in his life. Maybe it was his pride that pained him when he was forced to sit on the sidelines and let others take care of him. Maybe it was his sense of duty or his stupid ideas of getting by on his own. Most likely, it was his yearning to constantly prove himself, a yearning he constantly failed to fulfill.

But, no matter how hard he tried to pretend, Steve needed his friends. He needed those people who held him up when he stumbled and gave him a kick in the pants when he deserved it. He didn't need popularity. He didn't want it. Right now, he certainly didn't have it, either. But he had friends. That, at least, he couldn't doubt.

The soldier sighed and listened to the silence surrounding him. He just needed to figure out how to let people in again.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hello!**

 **Sorry this is late! And fluffy! Oh well.**

 **Thank you to all my reviewers, especially the Anon Josie, since I can't thank you through messaging. And thank you to my silent readers as well. I really appreciate you! :)**

 **Happy reading!**

 **~OnYourLeft107**

* * *

It was morning. _The sun is rising now_ , Sharon guessed, _whether I'm able to see it or not._ She found herself missing the simple things most over the last few weeks – sunrises, a comfortable bed, homemade food – that she had taken for granted before she was on the run. It wasn't the first time the agent had been forced to make do without and it wouldn't be the last. If Steve was there, so was she. She wouldn't have it any other way.

Sharon yawned, splashed some water on her face, and washed up.

There was still a little space in her heart that wished she could be back home in her apartment, though, drinking coffee, reading books. She had the coffee part, but it was cheap brew, and there was never time to relax, much less read anything other than the relevant news. Sharon looked in the mirror and sighed as she piled her hair into a bun. Doing her hair and makeup were things she hadn't had time or willpower to put much effort into lately, but she barely thought about it with everything else that was on her mind. She smiled. _Steve still tells me I'm the most beautiful thing he has ever seen every day without fail._ She pictured him. _Corny, but adorable._

She pinned back a few fly-aways and brushed her teeth. Even in the past, on SHIELD work days, she had gone with her simple bun and no makeup some mornings, simply because she valued sleep more. _Ha. Sleep? What's that?_ She still made herself presentable, but she didn't need elaborate styles to feel beautiful, and feeling beautiful wasn't the most important thing anyways. Still, it was fun to dress up a bit once in awhile. _Especially when all the clothes I have with me are dull grays and blacks._ _It'll be a welcome change if Steve ever takes me on that date he keeps promising after all this is over._

She put some stud earrings in, her only accessory, took a deep breath, and plunged into her day.

 _First, to check on the boys._ But when she cracked the door open after a quiet, unanswered knock, Sam stared her down and pointed to Bucky, whose back was to her. "He finally fell asleep," Sam mouthed, putting his finger to his lips. Sharon nodded her head and silently closed the door.

She then peeked in on Wanda, who being an early riser, had already been up for some time. They chatted pleasantly for a few minutes before Sharon ducked out. On a normal night she would have roomed with Wanda, as she had been since the enhanced individual came, but last night hadn't exactly been normal. Wanda asked after everyone who had arrived and Sharon assured her they were all fine.

As she made her way down to Steve's room, Sharon was met by Clint, who still had a cheeky grin on his face from one-upping them in the ongoing prank war.

She gave him a look. "Scott doing okay?"

"Misses his kid almost as much as I miss my little rascals, but yeah." He slipped past her. "Duty calls."

"Really? You're being productive?"

"Nahh. Gonna go beat Nat at Galaga," Clint replied with a wink.

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Good luck."

Steve's door was open when she walked in, as it usually was, so he didn't feel as shut off from everyone. He was awake, but looked as if he hadn't slept much; the man couldn't hide his tired gaze or the dark circles under his eyes, and he didn't try. He brightened a little when she walked in, though.

"Good morning," Sharon said, sitting on his bed.

"Morning," he replied, giving her a peck.

She smiled tentatively. "There's something I need to tell you."

"That Sam, Bucky, and Nat came in early this morning and everyone's safe? I was wondering when someone was gonna let me know." There was a slight edge to his tone but he didn't quite seem angry.

She was slightly taken aback but recovered quickly. "Yeah. I didn't tell you last night because I thought you were asleep. How'd you find out?"

"When you're stuck in bed you start to notice things more," he shrugged, "but I already knew the sound of your footsteps. You said they'd probably be here yesterday or today, so I was waiting for them. When I heard two other pairs of footsteps along with yours make their way down to where you said there was an empty room, I figured it must be Buck and Sam. They were too heavy to be a woman's, so I knew it wasn't Nat. And they weren't any of the other's. Clint walked by at one point later on and he was whistling. He wouldn't be if Nat was hurt. Then you didn't walk by to go to your room for the rest of the night, so I figured you must've been up with her. I trusted you would get me had one of them been in serious danger for their life, so they must've been relatively okay." He grinned as she stared at him for a couple seconds.

Sharon blushed. _Of course he knows all that,_ she thought to herself, mildly embarrassed. _Why am I even surprised. He's a highly-trained war captain for crying out loud._

Steve looked at her intently when she didn't respond right away. "I'm not wrong, am I?"

"No, no, not at all. They're all here, they're all fine. And yeah, you're right."

"How are they really?"

"They're okay."

"You don't have to protect me, Sharon," he said firmly. "I want to know the truth."

"I wasn't lying!"

"Of course not," Steve encouraged, slipping his hand into hers. "But is anything new?"

Sharon sighed as he trained his earnest blue eyes on her and she reluctantly gave him the news she would rather avoid. "Not really. They're exhausted. Beaten up. Nothing too serious. Sam took the brunt of the crash, but he's alright. Concussion at the most. They're not at their best mentally but it could be a lot worse." _There. That's all true_.

"How's Buck? Still shaken?"

 _Why, Steve. You know I can't lie to you._ Sharon bit her lip. "A little," she admitted. "He's been on guard, barely relaxed at all since he got here. But he's sleeping now. I think he'll be okay. You just have to give him some time." She noticed that the strength in his grip was returning, that for the first time, he could move his fingers without stiffening with pain. It sent a small rush of relief through her, that he could recover, he was improving.

Steve stared at their hands interlocked; hers was slender, elegant, his bulky and bandaged. _How long?_ he thought. _How long will it take? How much more waiting, helpless, for things to get better? I just want it all to be over._

Sharon noticed the quiet impatience in his eyes, his mouth tilted in a disappointed expression. "He needs time to process. You've needed it too. You still do." She squeezed his hand gently. "It's better not to jump before you're ready."

"Yeah, I know." His smile was sad. "But I'd rather choose to jump than wait to fall."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hello everyone!**

 **I have returned from my three month long hibernation to provide y'all with some new chapters once again! I didn't forget this story, I was just having some plot issues, and I took the whole of November to participate in National Novel Writing Month for one of my original stories that's in the works. But, here I am again, procrastinating before finals week. ;)**

 **Hopefully I'll be a tad more frequent with my uploads in the following weeks/months, depending on how crazy my life gets during Christmas break and the new semester. But I've got plans for this story and plans for other fanfictions I haven't dabbled in writing yet, so we'll see.**

 **Thank you again, so very much, for being such faithful readers and reviewers. I really do appreciate you!**

 **Happy reading,**

 **~OnYourLeft107**

* * *

He was isolated. Overwhelmed. Confused. And most of all, afraid. Afraid of what he didn't know. Afraid of what he did. His emotions were fighting amongst themselves for precedence in his mind, a battle he couldn't control and a fight he couldn't win. He was searching for answers to what seemed like a void of impossible questions. Tony took a deep breath in and stared blankly at the opposite wall from where he was standing, surrounded by his computerized trains of thought FRIDAY had suspended in the air around him. It seemed as if the more he tried the farther he was from uncovering the truth.

It didn't help that the people he was so used to calling on for advice were either dead or nowhere to be found. Even Pepper was estranged from him at the moment. Rhodey, at least, he had a location on, but his friend was too busy trying to quiet the government officials and the media about the Avengers-turned-fugitives to help Tony.

He sighed, snapping himself out of his daze as he thought of the scattered members of the team. They were criminals, really. But Tony couldn't stand to see that word alongside the names of his closest friends. His family.

He was very much alone.

It was nothing new; he had never lived a life without his family broken in one way or another. But it wasn't a comfort that the pain was familiar; it only made it all the more unbearable.

But he was a Stark.

He refused to stop trying, even if nearly every positive possible outcome was gone. Tony knew Wanda had to be found. Like Steve had said, she was just a kid. Or at least, too young to have her life thrown away by the authorities if they ever caught up to her. Nat, well, Nat could take care of herself. But Tony would rather know she was safe than never pursue her whereabouts at all. And Steve might be dead, but his murderer still wasn't. Tony would do all he could to bring him to justice. And his own parents might not have died an accidental death. Whoever killed them had to be held responsible.

He ran his hands through his hair that was tousled and dirty from several days' missed showers, his eyes burning and dry as he blinked to try to clear his foggy brain. It was all a mess. Like a code that had been overwritten by accident and was impossible to read. Tony knew he couldn't just _fix_ it. His friends weren't machines, his enemies weren't faulty programming. He felt utterly helpless.

It was driving him mad.

The video Zemo had sent kept replaying in his mind. Tony had written down everything he could remember about the recording immediately after it had self destructed: what Zemo said, any facial expressions or hand gestures that could have been clues, any slight emphasis on certain words or the strange phrasing of the way he said something. He had pondered over it that night for as long as his mind could take before he drank himself completely senseless. Looking back, the message Zemo was trying to send perplexed him. He didn't know if he should believe it, or if it was a lie purposely planted to crawl inside his mind and distract him from his true goal. Most likely, it was some sort of trap. But he couldn't be sure, and the doubt was gnawing away at his sanity.

All these years of silent suffering, of faulty coping methods and crushing guilt, all this time that had made his past wounds worse had made his yearning for closure stronger. If he ever had the chance, he would kill Zemo for what he had done to Steve. The Winter Soldier as well. And if it was true that his parents were assassinated and Tony could bring whoever their killer was to justice, maybe he could find some peace.

Tony moved his feet slowly toward the stairs and began walking up them. Each step felt like he was lifting a dead weight and he was barely able to keep his eyes open as he went. Whatever conclusion his search turned up, he needed a break. Nothing was making sense any more. He hadn't soundly slept in what felt like ages.

 _Bed_.

The word sent a fervent longing through his bones. Tony dragged himself across the living room to the elevator, punching two wrong buttons before he chose the right floor for his bedroom. Upon entering it, the shades already closed and his bed as inviting as ever, he made the decision that it was too much effort to change at two in the afternoon. So he threw himself onto the mattress, dirty clothes and hair and all, exhaled deeply, and finally succumbed to his exhaustion.


	20. Chapter 20

Bucky paced the length of the room, his arms stiff, his hands clenched, his eyes focused. In the midst of his anxiety, he didn't realize that he was resuming an old, old habit, from before he had even become any type of soldier. Pacing while he was agitated was something he had developed in Brooklyn. Back then, his troubles had been family finances, his drafted brother, and being drafted himself. Now all those problems had faded and lay in some corner of his mind, forgotten. The only problem he seemed to consistently remember was Steve. He had always been a problem. At least that much hadn't changed.

Back in Brooklyn, he had been kept up some nights, scouring the streets in all sorts of weather, trying to locate his pal. If he wasn't back by sundown Bucky knew something had happened to him. Steve rarely had a reason to stay out, and he never wanted to unnecessarily worry Sarah Rogers. Bucky had paced then after he had found his friend beat up or passed out and brought him safely home, sometimes lecturing him on why he should stay out of fights, sometimes just waiting for him to regain consciousness. Often times he had never even noticed he was doing it. It wasn't an abnormal thing to do. Now, reverting back to the old habit, Bucky didn't think twice about it.

But Sam did.

Sam didn't know the old memories Steve would have had he seen Bucky pacing or how commonplace the sight used to be. But Sam did know that the Winter Soldier would not have moved like that; he would not have been allowed the freedom. The Soldier had been trained to be efficient, to conserve his energy, to hide emotion. Bucky hadn't been. The dread and longing to resolve his guilt captured in the irregular breaths and slightly tilted mouth illustrated to Sam the vulnerable human Bucky not many cared to see. Not the WWII veteran or the HYDRA assassin, just the ordinary man. And as hard as it was to watch his friend struggle, Sam smiled a little. Because the unconscious return of former habits, even the nervous ones, was a sign that Bucky's brain was mending itself, even if he didn't realize it.

"You're gonna talk to 'im today, aren't you," Sam said as he lay on his cot with his hands behind his head, breaking the silence that hadn't been tampered with since he woke up.

Bucky glanced sideways at his friend for half a second, but continued pacing across the cold cement floor and didn't answer.

"You should." Sam turned his head away from his friend and looked up at the textured ceiling, tracing the bumps and cracks and divots with his eyes. "The longer you wait the harder it's gonna be."

Bucky knew Sam was right. He had dealt with more terrifying situations in his life. He was ashamed that he was scared now. But it was Steve. His best friend. His brother. He had already disappointed him enough. And he didn't want to see the compassion in the normally steeled blue eyes, or hear the gentle, "I forgive you," from a voice that should be coarse with anger. He knew he didn't deserve it. He knew it. But he also knew that he wanted it badly. And he hated himself for that.

"Hey, y'know, maybe breathing would be a good idea," Sam commented, glancing at him.

Bucky let out the air he hadn't been aware he was holding in and allowed a faint smile. "Yeah," he mumbled, listening to his own pattern of footfalls and trying to relax his shoulders. "Breathing is usually a good idea."

* * *

"Do you think…." Steve's voice trailed off and he didn't finish his thought. He trusted Sharon, as he should. And he knew he shouldn't push things. It seemed to hurt her more than anyone else who had spent time in his room that he was wounded and she had to see it. Bucky, Steve thought, would be the only other person in the base who might have a chance of surpassing the hurt she felt, but only because he had guilt paired with it. Steve shook his head, imagining Bucky was going through.

 _I wish I could tell him he's not alone._

Steve had thought long and hard about everything that had happened during the last few weeks. Bucky wasn't the only one with crushing guilt.

 _I wish I could say sorry for letting them take him back._

He had promised Bucky when they had gone undercover during the first weeks after the Accords that he would die before letting HYDRA take his friend again. He had broken that promise.

 _I wish none of it had ever happened._

But all his wishing meant nothing. It wouldn't change anything. The deep ache of failure, the sharp words slashing through his mind about letting his best friend, his brother, down. He didn't blame Bucky for the scars he had. He blamed himself. Because his own injuries never would have happened had Steve not failed his promise in the first place.

"Do I think what?" Sharon's delayed response came as she finished typing something into her laptop and turned to face Steve's bed. The supersoldier let out a heavy breath and shook his head.

Sharon frowned. "What?"

Steve smiled slightly. "I was going to ask if I could try standing on my own today."

"Maybe." Sharon smiled back, giving a pointed look at the dramatic rises and falls of his chest. "But I think we should start with breathing first."

Steve broke eye contact, his smile turning to a sheepish grin as he waited for the question he knew would come.

"What's on your mind?"

He ran his hand through his hair, his grin fading, and let out a long sigh.

"Everything."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:**

 **Hello! I'm not dead!**

 **It's been...wow it's been over four months *wince* sorry! No, I didn't forget or anything, I just procrastinated. And my personal life as been a struggle. But, now it's summer, so in theory I should have more time to write.**

 **This chapter is corny, but in my defense Infinity War destroyed my heart to the point of being forced to write something to make myself feel better. So, you can cringe, I did too, but I laughed a lot writing this.**

 **Also, a little aside, that line Steve says about "leaning on you"? Yeah, that's something my friend said over two years ago that I still remember, and somehow inspired this entire fanfiction. Don't even ask me how, I don't know.**

 **Anyways, enjoy! And leave a review if you can, I'm curious to see who's still around. :)**

 **Happy reading,**

 **~OnYourLeft107**

* * *

"Well, I told Nat I would meet up with her for lunch," Sharon said, standing and pushing her chair under the lip of the desk. "If you need anything, let me know."

"Okay." Steve smiled at her. "You're a doll."

Sharon crinkled her nose, smiling back. "Don't get all '40s on me, now. And don't you dare try getting out of bed while I'm gone. I know you were thinking it."

Steve moaned. "Have a little faith."

She shook her head as she walked out. "You're one to talk."

* * *

Bucky walked silently down the empty hallway. His muscles tightened with every step, his mind spewing insecurities at him as he drew closer and closer to the moment he dreaded. He was overwhelmed with more frightening and lonely thoughts and feelings than any man should ever have to face.

 _Get it together, Barnes. I'm going to talk to him. Whatever it takes. I won't make him come to me, not again._

He should have felt more peaceful knowing exactly when the conversation would start, being in control, but he didn't. Power, even in small amounts, was two faced. One minute he was fighting desperately for it, the next begging to throw it away. Bucky glanced up as he heard the click of someone's shoes and saw that it was Sharon. She slowed her pace until she was close enough to talk to him.

"Hello, Bucky." Her voice was quiet, but not because she was afraid. It wasn't pity; something deeper. Empathy, maybe. A reaction Bucky wasn't used to, something he didn't think he deserved.

"Hi, Sharon." The gruffness of his own voice shocked him. He cleared his throat and tried to relax. Embarrassment he didn't understand flushed his cheeks as he improved his posture and averted his gaze. Bucky didn't know her very well yet, he hadn't had a chance to, but from what he knew he liked her, and he could see that she was good for Steve.

"You don't need to hide that you're afraid."

His eyes flicked up at her and her calmness hushed the anxiety bubbling in his throat. "I guess I just don't want to mess things up again."

Sharon took in a deep breath. "None of us do. We've all lost so much."

Bucky blinked, looking down again. "But I'm the one who-"

"You and Steve are both bearing burdens too heavy for one man alone. You need to start letting some things go or you'll crumble under the load."

Bucky felt the gentlest reassuring touch on his shoulder, and surprising himself, didn't shy away.

"Steve feels just as awful about what happened to you as you do about what happened to him. Neither of you can change the past, but you can take away the sting." Sharon gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Talking to him is the best thing you can do, Bucky."

Her hand left his shoulder as she passed him and continued down the hall.

 _Maybe it's not so bad,_ Bucky thought, standing still for a moments and trying to focus on the encouragement. _There's no reason for me to be scared._ He tried to convince himself as he began walking again, but his rapid heart was beating a different rhythm.

* * *

"Hey." Steve gave Bucky half a smile as his friend froze in the doorway, visibly upset by the amount of medical equipment Steve was still surrounded with. "It could've been a lot worse."

"It should've never happened at all," Bucky said, voice trembling. He averted his eyes quickly, blinking back tears that were turning his vision blurry.

"It's okay, Buck." Steve watched him sadly, wishing he could get out of bed and give him a hug. "It's not your fault."

Bucky shook his head. "But it is, Steve. I'm the reason you almost died."

"And I'm the reason you were taken by HYDRA in the first place. We can't play the blame game, not when we both refuse to give up the fault."

Bucky ran his hand through his hair nervously, still avoiding eye contact. Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

"You can actually come in, you know," Steve said, breaking the silence gently. He smirked as Bucky walked in. "I remember when the nurses' biggest problem was keeping you out."

Bucky managed a small smile and pulled the chair from Sharon's desk to Steve's bedside. "They never had much luck with that, did they?" He shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I've missed you, punk."

"You too, jerk."

* * *

"C'mon, Buck, we gotta try it. Imagine her face."

Sam crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall of Steve's room. "She'll beat your as-"

"Language!" Bucky scolded.

Steve groaned. "Not you, too."

"Personally I'd like to stay on Sharon's good side, she looks like she could mess a man up," Sam said. "But if you two grandpas wanna risk it, I'll gladly call Life Alert when it's over."

Steve struggled to his feet in response, leaning heavily on Bucky. One of his knees gave in and the soldier struggled to catch him in time.

"This was a terrible idea, Steve," he breathed, pulling his friend up again.

"He's heavier than he looks, isn't he," Sam interjected.

Steve sighed, exasperated. "We just started. It might take a little time."

After several minutes, Steve was finally able to walk a few steps and support himself on his own. Only to have Bucky trip on the monitor cord moments later and end up on the floor, looking extremely annoyed.

Steve couldn't contain a chuckle as Sam chimed, " _Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!"_

"If you keep talking you won't be able to get up either," he muttered, glaring at Sam.

"Y'know," Steve added, "I was leaning on you. I didn't expect you to fall when I finally stood up."

Bucky got to his feet, hiding his amusement in a scowl. "Shut up, you overdramatic idiot."

All of a sudden a fourth person cleared her throat. Steve froze where he stood as Sharon put her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed in on him. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Language," Sam coughed under his breath, sending Bucky into a fit of silent giggles.

"Steve," Sharon said seriously, "we talked about this. Now sit down, you could fall."

"Hey," Steve said, opening his arms, pulling the most charming expression he could manage without breaking into a grin. "The only falling I'm doing is for you."

Whispers of "oohh" and "damn, that was smooth," came from the two wingmen in the room, and Sharon couldn't hold her angry look for long.

"That was awful, Steve," she said, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

Bucky and Sam backed out slowly, winking and giving him thumbs ups. The door softly closed and the couple stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"So, I assume everything's fine now," Sharon laughed, catching her breath.

Steve kissed her again. "At least for now."


End file.
